The mold in my teacup is just starting to grow.
I left it on the dresser,
and if my wife had caught it
I’d have gotten a lecture before the oversight sprouted.
But she missed that one;
She’s been busy.
And I’ve been me.
I cleaned it up myself
Like I always do.
From the Author
I’ll admit that I love dishing out these smaller works. Capturing a monolithic image or emotion at the expense of my usual narrative-based type of writing feels so satisfying. I’m sure any writer can attest that when we dictate on paper, we can experience a reverence for small moments one otherwise wouldn’t.
This is a poem about selective memory.