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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Oh Brother, Vend to Me a Memory

A dollar slipped right past me the other day
Right between the gender pay thigh gap
Unbeknownst to me
Straight into a vending machine
Freshly packed with butterflies
All delicate wings mangled by corkscrew dispensation
Hung up on that last little ledge
Just above where it says $1.00 - A3
Now to either fall victim to a two for one
For the next patron to come along
Or to a Hulk-worthy grasp and shake
Of this vending automaton bandit
Where I will walk away with half of the inventory

Crushed colored veneer thin wings
And mangled caterpillar body bits and things
All gotten for the low price of one dollar
Proving that money can buy happiness once again

I collected them all up in an impromptu pasted bouquet
To place upon your grave today
Held close beneath my painted face horrific
To frighten away that curse specific
Of time being the great forgettorator
Where you will become less and less with its passage
Crushing out all the specifics as it does
Leaving a furrow trail within my mind
A place for new memories to take root
No matter how frantically the little farmer in my brain
Comes and tries to smooth out the soil once again
The details are gone
As what grows anew will never be the same

The forgetting cannot be stopped
Even with a million broken butterflies
Until only generalities
And false memories
Remain