Memory’s
Miserable Without You
You’re
such a New York boy.
But look at me.
Will I always
be craving you?
(Look at me,
stupidly believing I’ll always
crave you, always cry out for
you) as I wake up with night
terrors (they’re terrible, so);
that’s what they’re calling
them now.
There’s
a name
for it; there’s a whole society!
I suppose I’ve never been
unique. This
thought brings
me back to “Unique, New
York!
Unique, New York!”
and now faster, says the
director of Much Ado About
Nothing.
An anachronistic
production set in the 1920’s.
I was Don Pedro, and all I
really remember were the
quick and plentiful costume
changes (often a uniform
of any sport you’d imagine
Jay Gatsby playing). To
be playing.
I just played
on play-acting for years.
But you? Do
I actually
even remember you?
If
only I could say “Maybe.”
If I could just say “Maybe
not.” But what if
I told you
I remember EVERYTHING?
What, then, would that mean
to you? Or
whomever? I
skulk around trying like mad
to be remembered for some-
thing. To
forget, even. Per-
haps. Yes...No.
The truth
is, if I’m so very forgettable,
then why do you try so des-
perately hard (it seems)
to completely erase me?
