Gum

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Well, gum, here you are again.

I know.

How do you always get stuck in these situations?

I don’t know.

You think you would learn.  Last time it was the boy with wolf teeth.  Before that, just dentures.

You think I’d learn.

But you don’t.  You never learn.

Maybe we should continue to talk about it and I will remember next time.

But that’s what we did last time.

I know. I’m not as slick as I’d hoped.

The Jar

jar

I like to call it my glass pocket. The jar that holds scraps of paper, twisted, bent and floating to the top. Crinkled memories saved. Sketches of celebrities doing novel things in far off places. A picture of David Duchovny eating McDonalds on the Coney Island ferris wheel twirls in place. Diana Ross singing Stop In The Name Of Love to Isis.

Put a lid on it, they say.

But I can’t close my pocket. Its memories might shatter.