A Strange Place

It’s out there somewhere, I tell myself,As solid as the desk I lean upon.Things were said and done in the pastAnd all we have to do is remember –Or so I thought, but when I chatWith another who was there -The ground begins to shift beneath my feet.

Memory is a stranger in your bedroom -A threat to your semi-naked self:‘You did mate, you told her she was useless,She ran out of the staff room!’‘But, I can’t have, really, I can’t have . . .Can I?’So now when I re-create, I fearI am only sculpting smoke.