Poem: Memory Trap

 

Memory Trap

 

seconds nudge,

some of them sixty years gone,

creeping back to a teenager,

even the infant who still pules

under my breath.

 

they poke, perturb, curse, cry, denigrate,

sure as a movie screen,

all these suffocative troubles, fusses and loves,

playing playing playing

all i ever was and am;

and so i wait and suffer and pray

escape is only a day yonder,

 

for in the end,

 

what are these seconds

but scratches of whispers on mental paper:

hairlines and squirls, picayunes and motes,

glimpses of harems, menageries and phantasms

some naïve playwright

scribbled in desperate glee.

 

 

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6/1/24 ... many mods hours after posting