To my short-term memory
An Elegy . . .
. . . of things that come and things that go
that sneak up quick and slip by slow
And from what did this void begin to grow?
I do not remember, I do not know.
Did I let it out with the dog?
Or lose it in some addled fog?
Did I lay it with my keys?
(A note to self: Where are these?)
Is it stored away in a damp shoebox?
Or kept safe under an old keyless lock?
Did I lose it in a high stakes game?
Or give it to . . . you know, what's his name?
Did it vanish in a puff of smoke?
Was it inhaled with one giant toke?
Forgotten like a painting with one bad stroke?
A lost Renaissance, or was it just Baroque?
To things that come and things that go
lost in the ebb, found in the flow.
Let me raise my glass in toast
to that which I miss the most.
Return to the lobby