The trouble with writing

The trouble with writing

Every day

Is I forget what I write

I can’t hold it in mind

From one poem to the next.

I worry that I might

Keep writing the same thing

Over and over again

Is it a crime?

Maybe I’ll get it right

Next time.

But when I sit down

It feels like

Something fresh will come to mind

Like the time

My mother-in-law

Who always wrapped her false teeth

In a napkin when she ate,

I know,

Who does that?

Why have them at all?

She said they hurt her gums

So she chewed without them

It made little sense,

But she sat there

Eating,

Well,

Ruminating

But seeming

To enjoy her process

Whilst spending time

With the family

In a restaurant

Surrounded by diners.

Until

With a careless sweep

She knocked the damn teeth

Off the table onto the floor

Did I tell you this before?

Perhaps

Maybe not.

I can’t be sure

But they danced

Like comedy teeth

In a Looney Tune cartoon

Bounced under the next table

Rattled around

This way and that

Ricocheting

Off human feet and chair legs

Jitterbugging like Astair

On speed

Spinning

Like a top in Toy Story

Dick Van Dyke in

Mary Poppins.

Muggins

Crawled through the gaps

In chairs

And six pairs of legs

To retrieve them

With two stiletto heel

Marks on the backs of my hands

And a pea in my ear

For my trouble.

She,

Unperturbed

Bless her,

Not,

Dunked them in a glass

Until she was done

Then fished them out

Dried them off

And stuffed them back in her gob

Slob

No shame

What a dame.