Memory

Sometimes when remembering what happened when and where
It becomes a burden I no longer care to bear.
I slap the carriage return on my antiquated thinking machine
And jump back to here and now.
The roller advances and brings a new left hand margin
And a bare unlettered place to start anew
Armed only with words I think I know the meaning of
And an alphabet I was taught to use.
Then I begin to wonder what the thoughts would look like
If I had learned to read from the bottom up
And the thoughts ran from right to left.
Then when my nose sniffs the smell of stuff so long forgotten.
It unearths the sight of images best left buried.
It’s time to stop digging.

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