And that’s the problem 
with working with memories.

It’s work. But I am tired 
of this lake, these trees, 

am unamused by 
the Ship Canal Bridge,

despite a trick of 
angle that makes 

it seem that the cars
are miniatures racing

across the roof
and not a mile out.  

I do not care if
the red kayak

is coming or going,
am not curious

as to why the table
of dental students

is laughing, doubling
over as they toss

a box of floss.
Forced to be

stationary,
I resent all things 

in motion and yet
begrudge time 

for moving too
slowly.