I stand in the store—there is something I missed;
There’s just one thing more—but it’s not on the list.
It isn’t a roll or a veggie or fruit,
Nor a fillet of sole, nor a ginger of root.
An hour ago I remembered it, but
Right now I don’t know—cuz my memory’s shut.
Now, don’t ask me why I did not write it then:
I had lint in my eye, or I’d misplaced my pen,
Or the light was too dim, or I hadn’t the time,
Or I’d run out of vim halfway up a long climb,
Or exhausted the space on my grocery-list scrap,
Or was flat on my face in the midst of a nap.
But whatever excuse for my scatterbrained ways,
It’s hardly much use as I stand in a daze.
The ice cream is melting, the lobsters are dead,
The canned goods are welting and crushing the bread,
The chicken’s dismembered and stuck to the honey…
Oh—I just remembered: I forgot to bring money.
—Anon A. Mouse