My memory’s like an elephant!
I’ve tried ignoring it; I can’t.
It’s big and fat and in the way;
It smells like hell; it’s wrinkled, grey,
And leathery. Still, I suppose
I envy its prehensile nose.
Did I say memory? That’s not
The word I meant…shoot. I forgot.
I know a little bit about a lot
And ought to know much more, but I forgot.
Ancient epic poets rhymed
(I’ve read) as a device mnemonic,
Narrative synapses primed
For recollection using sonic
Triggers (rhythm worked as well),
Which helps explain the richly-plotted
Blank-verse tale I can’t now tell:
It didn’t rhyme, and I forgot it.
Absolutes are always wrong
Shortcuts sometimes take too long
Bird banalities are song
I say ping and you think pong
And not the vaguely racist book
About a truant and a cook
And how he chose the blow he took
Nostalgia needs a second look
Don’t you hate when someone asks
You something that you know by heart
And then that simplest of tasks–
Just spit it out–becomes Brain Fart!
A long-time colleague, in a meeting,
Needs an intro to a guest,
And though you said her name in greeting
Right outside, you fail the test.
“What’s your home phone number?” Clearly
Not a Mensa-level quiz,
It still can tax your senses dearly:
“Dude, I’m clueless what it is.”
It isn’t just because I’m aging,
I’ve been like this from the start.
Trust me, it’s no more enraging
For you than for…crap. Brain Fart!
There’s a fact atip my tongue.
I’ve known it cold since I was young,
Deployed it lavishly out loud
In privacy and in a crowd,
And totally at my command
It’s always been. Please understand
That I can dazzle you with it!
Except you’ve asked me to, and…
That thing each November
You tell me I shouldn’t forget?
It’s fled from my mind,
But don’t worry, I’ll find it–
This guy hasn’t fawksed it up yet!