I am losing my nouns.
No, this is serious.
Careless, I know,
to lose so valuable a commodity;
but I am not doing it on purpose:
I think some one
or some thing
is stealing them.
It happened again
at the grocery place
yesterday:
I was talking to
one of the store people
— clerks — serving guys —
asking for those
round things made of
flaky pastry,
but I asked for
the puffy stuff,
and they wanted to
send me to the
freezer place;
but I knew it wasn’t frozen:
it was already baked.
Little round things
you put creamed fish on
with peas?
Creamed salmon.
Pastry shells, he said
and took me carefully —
the way I help the elderly —
over to the shelves
where the shells were.
On the way, I explained
to him that I was
losing my nouns.
I think he thought
it was more than
my thingamjigs
that was going.
Anyone with any
information about this
or any other crime
is invited to call
Crimestoppers.
We don’t have call display;
we don’t want your name
just your information.
The voice of the poet
riverwriter reads:
