Tonight we are gathering at dVerse pub for poets. Come and join us, enjoy the company and some fine poetry.
How many times
can I hide behind a joke?
It’s an age thing.
Memory isn’t what it was.
You know how it is, mind on other things.
But underneath that bravado,
I can’t help wondering.
Is there a black hole
sucking at the nebula that is my brain?
Gradually syphoning off vital stars
that hold blocks of memory.
I only ask because today
I lifted the lid
and threw in my underpants.
Mistaking the toilet
for an adjacent laundry basket.
My mind was obviously
on other things.
welshstream 