anamnesiac

blueberry pie blueberry pie blueberry pie
this is what my mind was doing
as i was riding
my bike (this is a new thing, this bike riding)
down henry street
home
where i had left some watercolors
drying on the table when i
rushed out
to meet
some guy
who
it appears
would like to hire me to teach writing and SAT and i don’t know why i am taking this job because i
but i did
hopping on my bike after screaming at him
about modifiers and thesis statements
over the drum-n-bass
rendered beautifully
on the most excellent sound system
of my favorite cafe
and riding to the school
where i will be shaping young minds in the fall
and where i found a cluttered office
that nonetheless is mine
and after

three

hours
was much less cluttered
which contributed greatly to my peace of mind
since i cannot work in clutter
and
not fifteen minutes later
allowed me to find
under
great
duress
the universalspiritofhumanloveandlight
in the eyes of the dumbass waitress
who made my life miserable
at a ridiculous cafe
for

forty-

five

long

minutes
after which i escaped to my bike again
(this bike thing, i like it, i am liking the bike thing)
remembering

suddenly

about the
blueberry pie
i had eaten last week
praising the
sweet
god of
food
after every bite
a thought which made the ride home
that
much
more
delicious