Image: DJ Murphy, DALL-E
As mist becomes fog
I’m forgetting things.
What sent me into the living room.
Checking the car mirror before changing lanes.
I’m forgetting things you’ve told me over and over.
That actress’ name in the film I said I loved.
The freeway exit we take to get home.
I’m forgetting things I’ve written down, somewhere.
Your phone number, without speed dial.
Yet childhood memories stream in technicolor.
Cleon Jones, the left fielder for the ’69 Mets.
The clickety-clacking of baseball cards in my Stingray’s spokes.
I would trade those vivid memories to hold you
from vanishing in the fog,
leaving me alone in its grasp,
recalling people unmet, places unseen.
I want to always remember
you prefer non-fat milk;
the middle eastern restaurant where we met;