October daily special, in case you couldn’t get enough of all the creative content craziness from Jennifer Weigel we’re posting one a day for the whole of the month!
Where was I going just now?
Before my thoughts turned
towards dinner concoctions for tomorrow?
Before I glanced into the car next door
at the brunette tapping a cigarette out her window?
I’ve found myself grounded at a red light
that I don’t even remember stopping for.
I tally my actions, reliving each and every detail, one by one:
Drop off recycling. Check.
Return overdue library book. Check.
Buy scoopable cat litter. Check.
But my yet-to-do list is still just a hazy blur.
Thoughts sweep through my mind,
pouring through like the passing cars,
as if racing towards some unremembered goal
barely hinted at in my peripheral vision.
I start questioning my need to be in this time and place.
While my thoughts slow to an inevitable pause
the passing traffic lulls around me.
In less than a moment’s notice,
the red light morphs to green
and like a start I’m back on track –
on my way to pick up a gallon of milk,
having forgotten the act of forgetting.
Older poem originally appeared in a self-Xeroxed zine.
(Image features Reversals altered mirror image InterUrban of derelict wall and pipe.)
Leave a Reply