I forget sometimes,
and as I have grown older
I have a harder time remembering
things—names of people, songs,
dates, movies and such.
On the end table next to my
recliner in the living room
I keep an unorganized pile of
scrap paper on which I make
little notes to myself, a few
words scribbled randomly
as I recall what it is my
memory has lost or
will inevitably forget…
pay rent, chicken breasts,
Wandavision, Band of Brothers,
Chuck Berry, It wasn’t me, Dreams,
Stevie Nicks, Ibuprofen, Amber, VA,
10 AM Wednesday, Air Supply,
Making Love Out of Nothing at All,
Earl Foster, Mike Wagner, Iris
DeMent, Easy’s Getting Harder
Every Day, 265019113, Joyful
Noise, Greatest Showman, Call Ange,
Gene Wilder, Imagine Dragon,
Faces and Places, a Celebration of
Humanity, Marlboro Light 100s,
Evergy, Pierucci, Frank and Louise
Vasquez, Call Consuella, Mannheim
Steam Roller, Verizon, 888-294-6804,
Anthropocene, Pangaea, and so, and so,
and so…
Small, odd -sized scraps of paper,
notes written up and down, sideways,
perpendicular, parallel, horizontal,
vertical, every which way, a grab bag
of disarray. Hundreds of notes, jotted
down randomly as they pop back into
my conscious memory.
No one but I hold the age-old answers
to the riddle my life has come to be, even
for me sometimes a mystery.
-30-
Chris Hanch 4-12-2021
No comments:
Post a Comment