1992

I bumped into the memory man

the other day—

(we’ve been crossing paths often

lately)—

and I listened to small things

which gave me small reactions.

But when he arched his eyebrows

as if asking was I ready?

I decided I wasn’t in about

one second,

and I left memory man

where I found him and

conveniently forgot where

that place happened to be.

The only thing is that

he knows how to find me.

He finds me every day.

And every day he asks the question

and every day I say, “No thanks.”

One of these days, I guess.

It will be one of these days.