Gone & lost important papers

records of importance

which meant i had-ta shuffle through papers

rifle through every pocket of every bag

go on & toss out old receipts

& scripts from the grave.

 

How is it I always need an apology.

Can’t complete z before x or y,

can’t make it husband’s fault

when i was the original mover

the pancake flipper

I am the ones with keys, letters,

paper stating I don’t have tuberculosis,

I swear.

One simple delivery

one itty job

in hand

and then

 

 

poooof

outa sight

no memory

(huhhhhhhhhh the biggest sighs, the old admission of HELP)

 

found

under the next time

that next thing

the every-time

making me remember that

habit of losing things–

records

maps

earrings

string

tweezers

bills

any traces of gills

this little fish with just barely

a memory of where anything’s hidden

i swear

heaven help me if i ever find treasure &

think to bury it.

 

so now it’s like this:

for my birthday, whenever that may be,

please someone, get me a private secretary,

a metal detector,

some ginko biloba,

and perhaps, maybe,

psycho-therapy.

 

“glub”, which in this case, is fish for “word”.