Jazz in the shopping center

Of it all, I remember
only pieces: pretense, youth,
improvisation, laughter.

We were never as advertised,
neither rogue nor poet; unbidden,
I recall my claims to both
with embarrassed fondness.

Birthdays never stuck with me
but this one I see everywhere:
on the clock in the car, as
the number on a lock, simply
perpetuated in my world,
years onward.

It’s hard to understand, or forget,
people and the unsought ways
my mind or something deeper
calls up old bits of conversation,
remembers someone’s laugh or
calls up again a calendar date
that once held meaning—now,
less than, or greater than, before.

—The song ends, and I look around
to find I had forgotten my surroundings;
slowly return to this place
where I now happen to be.




may 2018