my memory fails me
only when some third party
steps in & says that’s not
how it went down
while that may be the case
my version most likely
plays out much better
for everyone involved
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the newspaper arrives long before
he descends the stairs
one slow step
at a time
he sits at the kitchen table
rifling to the sports section
locating a table with today’s date in bold
(which he circles with a felt pen)
below it a listing of all the games
including time & television channel
the table gets clipped
(including the header)
placed beside the remote
within arm’s reach from the recliner
all morning long he’ll study the list
making interesting comments
about the matchups
but more importantly
paying particular attention
to today’s date
january two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Back in junior high school
way back in seventy-four
we practiced this McCartney song
until our voices bled
I vaguely recall performing
this piece in public
and as far as its reception
I imagine it must have been
lukewarm at best
—I mean at that age
are you kidding me
Now that I’m less than
a year away from the milestone
I’m beginning to suspect
Sir Paul had me in mind when
putting together his little ditty
now that I’m an old boy
staying out till quarter to three
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was a journey
through the pouring rain
speeding not as fast on the interstate
the stress of the body
the brain pulsating
like the wipers
going back & forth
how many times have I
made this trip
to my mother’s house
a place I knew by heart
one in which she wouldn’t allow
a stranger to clean
though near the end it was inevitable
she would unhappily
acquiesce
the sun refused to show itself
that day
or the two that followed
the rains off & on but a reminder
how fluid is the body
from start to finish
how eventually it will become
a body of water
like a puddle or a pond or the sea
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they found him in the kitchen
doing parlor tricks for the little ones
like separating his thumb from his hand
or making quarters disappear only to
reappear in unusual places
c’mon pops it’s time to go
—time to go where
time to go home
—but I thought this was my home
when they led him out of the kitchen
all the little ones begged
for him to stay
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he’s become too old
to put in three tomato plants
or maintain the rose bushes
unable to get on his hands
& knees and shove the annuals
into the ground in mid-may
the garden the size of a small
badminton court
though the colors
perennially extraordinaire
the tomatoes
the only fruit to be picked
the flower blooms coming
& going from summer till fall
seemingly on their own
there is no succession plan
when it comes to the garden
yet the old man still orchestrates
what should go where
those of us who know him best
traveling from hundreds of miles away
making sure it continues
to suit his eye
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how’s your tendinitis
do you remember when you had
to stop mousing
& start fiddling around
in the garden
the heel of your right foot
remains sore from the shovel
but you don’t remember
feeling a thing
after so many beers
in the evening
as you sit on the front patio
looking at birds
through opera glasses
your phone rings & rings
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
and she said
we’d never drift apart
not in a million years
and she said
love never leaves the heart
even after death
but if the flowers should fade & wilt
and the angels should fly away
just know I won’t be afraid
as long as you’re near
and she said
there is a place beyond the sun
that never grows old
and she said
it never grows old
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you can find them just about anywhere
on the kitchen counter
inside the cabin of the car
atop the bedroom dresser
coffee table & end tables
and especially in the ‘reminders’ app
it didn’t use to be this way
back when I was as sharp as a tack
but time has a way of chipping away
at the sharpness of wit
the precision of a timepiece
the idleness of a combustion engine
it could be just about anything
items at the grocery store or drug store
or the hardware store
rebooting the modem every sunday
visiting dear old mom at assisted living
or working on my own obituary
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s midnight in london
and I’m unsure where I stand
in this shrinking world
I’ve discovered
someone is alleging to be me
and according to elon musk
nothing much can be done about it
back in america
[where the fake me likely resides]
the extreme weather is derailing
the economy & democracy
—while here in my lower level flat
it plays havoc w/my nervous system
as I consume illegal substances
advertised to rewire my failing memory
may two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
I’d told them to take it away
that I didn’t want to see it anymore
and so they did
after a while I told them to take
the other thing away
and so they did
I was getting good at giving orders
surprised they so easily
obeyed my commands
soon it was one thing after another
and at a certain point
I’d told them I was tired
and they quietly withdrew from my sight
in the morning the birds did not sing
and the sun did not usher in the dawn
I turned on the light
and looked around the room
none of the things
that I had ordered away the night before
were actually gone
I had commanded only to myself
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s become difficult to concentrate
on one thing at a time
the multitasking multiverse
inflicting its influence
over unsuspecting minds
what you’re doing here I have no idea
it seems I can’t recall your name
but if you give me a hint or two
maybe I’ll shout it out
before you leave
they say I’ve been stuck inside
these four walls
for years on end
but all I can remember
is dirty rain falling
outside these dirty windows
an unexpected light
occasionally producing
a dingy looking rainbow
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am the last of a dying breed
how many times have you heard such a thing
my irish-backed whiteness
and lack of an accent [due to my
american upbringing]
couldn’t make me any more
plain-janier
inkless & pierceless & without
nary a conviction
I look & sound exactly as expected
—predictably beaten
I say do not interview me
I’ve nothing interesting to add to the
conversation
I like to talk about all the times
I’ve almost died
but nobody wants to hear those
cat stories anymore
if only they had changed over the years
embellished & unbelievably heroic
perhaps they could have
transitioned into lives of their own
instead I’m the interviewer
& the interviewee
a super long list of imperious questions
going unanswered
hour after hour after hour
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
usually nothing comes to mind
due to the clutter inside
having built up over a lifetime
only occasionally sortable
though mainly a jumbled mess
making little to no sense
the pictures are uncountable
yet interchangeable
moving in & out of recesses
with emotionless abandon
the audio like birds of various colors
but mostly in shades of black
september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing to do here
all the windows need cleaning
looking out
past the tree tops
the sky is blue & red & green
the circus is in town
or is it the carnival
on saturday the farmer’s market
arrives downtown
it’s kind of like a moveable feast
or so I tell people
and mostly a waste of my precious time
there’s nothing to do here
don’t bother coming
paradise left back in the late sixties
now there’s just a bunch of nothing
going on
I can personally testify
the ballclub from fort wayne
rolled into town last night
I heard they’ll probably kick our ass
to boot some sort of pop rock band
is playing at sundown
at the outdoor amphitheater
I’m sure the place will be packed
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is a song playing
in the other room
sounding somewhat familiar
but too faint to make out
of course the other room
is incapable of playing music
and so you venture there
to see what is what
the curtains are open
and so are the windows
you stand in the other room
as the song draws to a close
march two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 