she left a

pair of earrings

on the

nightstand

beside

my bed.

I told her so.

they are cheap, she said.

the whole thing

feels

cheap to

me.

I would feel

worse

if she

didn’t like Led Zeppelin,

I think. 

I’ll ask her later

in bed

in my boxers

drinking a beer

with

Knut Hamsun

clothes that need to be folded

and

a finished City Paper crossword

listening to

George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue”

wondering:

what would my mother think of me?

I am

starting to

forget my mother:

does that bother her as much as it

bothers

me?