Remembering

This is not the poetry of Walt Whitman,

Emily Dickinson or Robert Frost. They

and others of acclaim have long since

passed away.

More than likely you will not remember

me for anything other than my name.

Unless you should have known me as a

friend, relative or neighbor of the recent

past, even then I shall rarely if ever cross

your mind.

And I must say, that is perfectly okay.

Life is just that way. If it makes you feel

any better, I regard you as the same.

Oh, now and again in my old age I play

mind games with myself just to activate

my remembrances of the past—

Larry was my first and best friend when I

was a kid; Debbie was the girl up the street

who had polio and got about using crutches

and braces on her legs.

Mrs Eisenhower was my fourth grade

teacher at Mary Queen of Peace Parochial

School. I raised my hand in class the first

day and asked if we could call her “Ike?”

Although everyone in the world called our

President that at the time, she said, no.

Memory is a funny thing. Some things pop

up randomly at odd times; some things which

should remain emblazoned in your mind,

seem to escape.

I spent hours one day trying to remember

the name of the guy in the Army who loaned

me his suit in which I got married some fifty

years ago.

No, not Bobby, not Terry or John, Willie!

Not he either. Willie was the short guy with

a goofy laugh.

Days, I tell you, it took days. And the moment

my mind dropped that pursuit and drifted off

to something else, Boom! It hit me...Earl Foster,

Botany 500. Damned nice guy, gray seersucker

suit. I had to let my mind break away from my

silly exercise in order to remember his name.

Anyway, should you remember me for some-

thing, say an unpleasant situation or encounter

with which I was involved, and refused to accept

the blame, it’s best you forget it. And eventually

one day...Boom! My name will come when you

least expect it.

I never had a suit to loan, but there were

other things I did, some of which were never

returned. What exactly that was and your

name escape me right now. Not to worry,

eventually it will come to me. Besides, who

gives a shit. It’s too late now, anyway.

                            -30-

Chris Hanch 3-31-2020