Whatcha Thinkin 'Bout

whatcha thinkin ’bout nothing really. it is true. at an age when the mind is on permanent vacation, I float on a bed of soft feeling, selected memories. occasionally a thought creeps in disguised as a smallish notion then bursts into a real head-banger of an idea stamped, to the one who used to live here. Like throwing a bone to a toothless dog to be slobbered over then discarded for a nap in the sun.