Selective Amnesia

I'm at my best on the morning commute
when I remember you don't exist,
tap the steering wheel
to a house-beat bass,
watch the grey morning haze
lift off the city. It works well
most ordinary week days.

Or maybe it's when I head home
and remember we never existed,
and that what I thought was you
was only a character I'd seen in a movie,
after two glasses of wine,
when my clothes fell off
and I was feeling friendly.

And that thing I'd heard you say
was really just a bad dream
mixed with the B-movie script
and a few errors in judgement.


Suzanne Jean Johanson