02 January 2011

That time we took the thingumabob to whatsit.

I can't remember what I was going to write here.

I had a little fall today; I’m glad nobody saw,
But the contents of my hippocampus spilled onto the floor.
And as they lay in front of me, all cracked and context-stained,
I felt some disappointment at how little I’d retained:
The name of that ex-boyfriend who once brought my Mum a rose;
The lyrics to the themes of twenty-seven children’s shows;
The beach where I got frightened ‘cause I wandered out too deep;
Two-thirds of movies during which I’d nodded off to sleep;
The night I ran away, jacked up on hormone-fuelled defiance;
A handful of the terms I learned in first-year neuroscience;
Some ballet steps; the trumpet valves to play a B-flat scale;
The restaurant where I first ate chicken-liver-stuffed roast quail;
My wedding day; my children’s births; which night we put out bins;
The tricks that only work on Primary teachers if you’re twins;
I scooped them up and put them quickly back where they belong;
But now I can’t remember who performed that bloody song.