I don’t remember shit

I don’t remember, I don’t recall,
I got no memory of anything at all*…

I don’t remember that, I don’t remember this
I don’t remember purgatory, I don’t remember bliss,

I don’t remember now, I don’t remember then,
I don’t remember why it was, I don’t remember when,

I don’t remember what I said, I just don’t remember it,
I don’t remember him or her, I don’t remember shit,

I don’t remember slip-on shoes, I don’t remember running,
I don’t remember high ideals, I don’t have much low cunning,

I don’t remember falling down, I don’t remember any more,
I don’t remember calling out and making for the door,

I don’t remember sleeping, I don’t remember how I woke,
I don’t remember being whole, I don’t remember when I broke,

I don’t remember a trillion things I’d lost or thrown away,
I can’t remember that far back, I don’t remember yesterday.

*from - ‘I don’t remember’ Peter Gabriel, PG3, 1980

© BH, 2020

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Some political controversy over Joe Biden’s memory capability - age-related, of course - prompted my old friend Robert to post a self-portrait and a pair of shoes. Of similar years, the memory isn’t what it used to be. Mine. neither. But we’re not running for office.

I thought about Peter Gabriel; I thought about remembering things; I thought plenty. I thought about how our two faces could be amalgamated after nearly 50 years of friendship.

I wrote this. The message? ‘Be here now.’