Memoir

I don’t want to write 

about a time when life 

was colorful and hand puppets with

blurry precision

played out best-forgotten

scenes with

fuzzy memories I can’t 

leave in the dark. 

I can only 

cast shadowy glimpses

on a light-infused wall 

and show you the time 

he fooled so-and-so

with his wit

and intelligence and

and hillbilly charm.

I can’t relive 

his version of

reality so you would 

remember to forget, the next time,

about the time 

he was clever again and again and

again until next time

was the last time.