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I finished nothing
after all it does not
seem to matter too much
for me

I wrote a poem
while walking-just the beginning
pushing the stroller
as the baby slept
I recited it
loudly, slowly and with

I though I would recall it

instead it is gone
three words remain
fourth has gone missing
and now
I must start all
over again

wishing to find a poem
in my backyard,
underneath the chewed up impatiens, or
leftover dead moles, carcasses randomly
strewn about the yard by some
thoughtful cat

or near the humming bird feediner aflight with
quick views of irridescent green feathers
or a flick of a bright orange neck

Maybe I will find it underneath the burnt out butterfly bushes, or the spiderman bubble blower caked with mud.

or perhaps it will be gone forever
into the void of what could
have beens
so much for memory
so much for reciting outloud
only the deer heard my poem
and for that I interrupted
a  mouthful of lunch