This Memory Machine
Memories for sale the ticket master said to me.
You have to enter seventh street, at a quarter after three
You mean in the afternoon, I said, “right?”
He laughed and said “no, our machine does not appear in plain sight.’
It shows up after three a.m. when the world is asleep.
When you get close, you have to approach it in a kind of creep.
there might be storm troopers there; if so, go away.
If they do not shoot you, you can try another day.
But what memories are for sale? I asked. How do I know I’d want them?
They have your favorites- the ones that made you snort milk onto your chin.
They’ll make you laugh and remember the best times you ever had.
I trusted him, and so I set my alarm for two-thirty, and I felt very glad.
The troopers were there when I started creeping up the street.
I rolled myself into an alley and had a little bite to eat.
Waiting for them to leave was agony of course.
But they finally did, and I bought a favorite memory of me and my old horse.
I was thrilled and went back to that machine- time after time after time.
Buying memories I had forgotten, they were worth the trouble and my dime.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
