Hello, how are you?

It sure has been a long time. I wanted to tell you

I met a colleague of yours today and we shared

stories about you over a glass of wine.

Anyway, he seemed to know you well,

(shocked to meet me)

and he filled me in on the recent chapters

of your (storybook) life as he took me on a casual stroll down

(your) memory lane. Lovely it was, full of sheets

of white canvas, of sailboat journeys off Cape Cod

and Perrier with a (surprising) twist…

It seems that in writing your memoirs

You neglected three rather significant

obstacles you had to overcome. Now, I know

you are a perfectionist, and the fruit doesn’t fall

far from the tree, so I was only too happy to correct your failing

memory and set the story straight.

(Memoirs are non-fiction, as you’ll recall

from your English Lit college days.)

So not to worry. Between the telling of the white

doves and multiple judicial decrees,

(no charge–consider it a gift)

where you should have mentioned

your aversion

to diapers and bed-time stories,

I took the liberty to correct your oversight

and preserve the honesty and integrity of your story

by adding the words

this page, intentionally left                ____________.


i wrote this poem

with you in mind

and realized i have

nothing to say

there is no reason to write

it ends here