Regret

Dear Anthony Bourdain 

somewhere between the time you died and the time you lived 

i found a part of myself in the words you spoke 

[This is a reposted edited version of a previous poem of mine.]

when all we have is spent–

what will we have left?

people once before us–

i walked down the street
the streets i once used to know 
filled with regrets and heavy with burdens 
of what once happened here

i walked down the street 
a block or so down