Forgetting

Half way between our house and the restaurant

Someone was running in our direction.

Not again? I didn’t leave my credit card…again?

Our waitress was breathing heavily

When she reached us.

In her right hand she held the goddamn card.

This was not the first or fiftieth time I forgot the damn #%&%#$%.

But this was the first time I left my card on her table.

Of course this was the first time she had been my waitress.

I am not a collector of much, so the thirty baseball caps and 100 pens

That I never recovered have not caused sleepless nights.

My subconscious is doing its job.

Notwithstanding the many prompts that have

Encouraged closer inspections, I leave things behind.

I cannot attribute this personal flaw to inheritance.

No family member that I know, or know of,

Has been marked by this need.

There is no basis for believing I am

Manifesting a generous nature.

Whether returned or not there is no conscious choice involved.

Perhaps I am a victim of a strange study started at my birth?