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?
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