There is something he forgot
Something he had do to today
He stands in the driveway
Next to the black BMW
Taps his foot on the cracked cement
Next to the red rusted sewer grate
And rubs his index finger
Around the socket of his eye
Something important …he forgot
He jingles his keys back and forth
From an anxious dangled limb
His lips alternate between
Puckers and grimaces
He rocks to and fro
On his black and white converse
There was a favor
Someone asked him to do
Now he turns his nose up
And sniffs in evening air
Like a chinchilla senses danger
His eyes dart nervously
Across the neighbor’s lawn
No, that wasn’t it
There is something he forgot
It was someone’s birthday
Or wedding
Or funeral
He closes his eyes
And sees a canyon
Rise up from a dried up river
The image burnt in neon
On the insides of his lids
He goes inside
And sits on the futon
By the heater
Pours himself a glass
And watches the ring
That forms below
A hollow circle
When he takes a drink
A planet eclipses
Then he remembers
Sitting next to her
In the emergency room
And the smell of blood
Between her legs
He looks at the pictures
Of his two daughters
Would it have been a brother
Or a sister?
She doesn’t need to be reminded
She always remembers
He always forgets
Matt Rouse lives in Orange County where he writes and practices controlled burns at poetry readings. He has been published online at culturedvultures.com and won numerous spoken word competitions.
Photo Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/markusspiske/
