Forgetful

        It isn’t that I’m forgetful –

Not remembering whether

I’ve checked the mail, as

It is that I no longer think

It worth recalling.  I

Should, finding myself going

Out again and again as though

I’d forgotten.  Sometimes I 

Find mail and feel justified.

Sometimes I find myself

Rummaging through my trash

Looking for evidence.  Last 

Night I dreamt I was homeless,

Pushing a cart filled with mail,

And not knowing if it was all 

Mine, furtively thinking I might

Be asked to explain myself

And lacking explanations

Save the name on the

Cart and the time,

I kept on pushing.