Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Memory loss


I was at the river, turning,

Seeing the off-road biker

Racing toward us, hearing him

Rev his engine in a

“Get out of my way” way,

But Duffy was behind me so I

Stood, with hickory stick

At port-arms remembering

Standing on the Kunsan beach

Looking through the wire

At the Yellow Sea, the long

Tide seeping up inexorably

From nowhere.  Could I build

That bit of experience

Into a memory worth keeping?

I listened to Sarah Vaughn

In the Slop Chute, drinking

Weak beer with Emhoolah,

And being led to feel

That we were all okay.

Did I hold something back?

I must have, for I moved

And let it flash past

Thinking I needed more.

How could I possibly

Know or be anything,

Pouring though I did over

Specifications and Sigmund Freud?

It was a Lucretian flux.

I fell asleep waiting for orders

And the Cosmic swerve. 

Memories faded.

I stopped by my seabag

Waiting for the bus

To Pendleton knowing enough

So they said.  It didn’t matter.

I was in the flux flying

And they made me Sergeant

As though I would exhibit

A blind obedience after

My arm took on its third stripe.

Like a spy striving to hide

His true identity I moved

Into the world not finding

Any of it familiar with

Several women moving in and out,

Or was it me?  I lost track

Of what I was seeking until

The biker rushed me and I stood.

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