August 24, 2008
By Michael Pierce, Eldersburg, MD

It's not particularly important,
I just felt like I wanted to say,
How much I truly remember,
Of the events from day to day.

I may have done something utterly stupid,
Making my face rush bright red,
Or perhaps I saw someone get picked on,
Or a half imagined feeling of dread,
Most people as far as I know,
Won't record such tiny details,
But I remember,
I'll always remember.

I remember seeing a man on his feet
On an incline in the road,
As our bus revved up the street,
He was washing his car,
I remember the hose,
The cold, drowning water,
The shining car in the sun
like a wilted rose,
Nothing important.
And yet, I remember.
I remember hiding under a table
In a horrifically white room,
When the towering nurse entered,
an omen of my doom.
Mother fished me out, and
I was gently placed
on a tall, eerie bed,
The nurse, without grace,
prepared that horrific needle,
for my Chicken Pox shot,
I remember.

I also remember in grim detail,
How I on the bus was nailed.
I remember disappointments, but can't make
them out,
and yet they still haunt me.

Is this a gift, or a curse?
With every event, it gets better, or worse.
So I ask you, is amazing memory, such cause for celebrationous symphony?

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