poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “forgetfulness”

thinking things through

how dare you forget
she reminded herself
having come to terms
with how easily
it’s become
to not remember

in the back of her mind
she knew he’d never forgot
about the why or where or when
he just needed a little push
an incidental nudge
to make him think things through
circling back to a time
when reaching a certain age
doesn’t seem
to hold as much weight
as it does today

december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve

beer cans and forget-me-nots

the beer cans used to be blue or
but now they’re gold with a splash
of lavender…it’s all very confusing

I went to the grocery store to purchase
some stamps and a lottery ticket
and pick up a twelve pack of that
beer in gold cans and
lavender lettering

when I got home and walked into the house
(by way of the garage)
the dog stared at me from my favorite chair
his ears lit up like some stupid jack rabbit

oh son-of-a-bitch I say to the jack rabbit
I forget to pick me up
some of that damn beer

august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

men dressed in red

left in the shadows of her siblings
she fell fast asleep in the back seat of daddy’s suv
out of sight and out of mind

the very idea of tomorrow never
entered her most wildest of dreams as she breathed
the shallowest baby breaths

locked inside this man-made trap
a busy world revolves around her curiosities
her arms reaching for the sky

focused on a happy ending
she wills the glass to break into million of pieces
men dressed in red rehearsing
to set her free

may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

while looking for cheaters

I stood in the kitchen dumbfounded
body leaning toward the counter
my arms stretched out
my hands gripping the edge
preventing me from falling straight down

once again short-term memory gaps
have poked holes into my productivity
the interruption of progressive thoughts
leading me down avenues of days long gone
like when I wore batman capes
and had real conversations with the mailman

I remember once when I was five
on an early sunday morning
all alone in the great room watching cartoons
my body laid out with elbows on the carpet
and chin resting inside my hands
when all of a sudden a dull clash
resonated from the kitchen and slowly
bounced it’s way into the great room

I dared not move one iota

as I stared into the kitchen
tall shadows moved about the inner walls
no doubt cast by the breeze nudging the evergreens
but I was petrified nonetheless
and hid like a stone waiting to be found

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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