I don’t forget words, they just get lost.
Sometimes the definition is lost
but not the word.
Sometimes the definition
but the word is lost.
Sometimes all I have is a sense of it;
not a definition or a word
so then I play a game of charades…
I stared into her wide eyes
and Cheshire grin.
“Did you like the service?” she asked.
as if I had the mental
capacity of a three year old.
Two thoughts rolled around my head.
The former in a game of charades…
The latter was more prominent
“Why the fuck is she
talking to me like this?”
Suddenly the former won the game,
“Oh, yeah. I did.”
I looked to my mother;
on her face as the new minister
of our church slowly nodded.
letting go of my hand
after petting it
This woman’s reaction was new
Later that evening it hit me.
“Mom. Did you tell her, I was dyslexic?”
She chuckled in realization.
“Yes, I did. Wow.”
I am sure my delayed reaction
only encouraged her misconception,
but whatever happened
to asking questions?
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