by Deborah Steinmair
All sensation belongs to
The memory of a moment ago
And all the moments of your life and mine
The primary school sandwiches at lunchtime
The lakeside picnics, the boozy bashes
In seedy kitchens the minor car crashes
Led inexorably to the moment
That used to be the present
We spend the minutes of this morning
Sitting in a greasy spoon in Woodstock
And graffitied on a wall across the street
The name of your ex-girlfriend who didn’t get well
In loving memory of Estelle
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