i keep telling myself that everything i read
makes me a little more educated,
but if you were to ask me, or quiz me,
on what i read last year,
or even last week,
there’s a chance i wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what
was happening in the book or article,
maybe a few keep points, you know, the broad strokes of it all,
but i’m not one of those types of people that can memorize lines and lines
of books to quote at sophisticated dinner parties that serve
red wine with spinach quiches,
rather i’m the type of person that confuses the plot
of catch-22 with that of the kandy-kolored tangerine-flake streamline baby,
but not in a charming sort of way
where the transgression can be forgiven because of my lack of memory,
but more so where the guests at the dinner party sort of pity me,
and the rest of the night is spent in awkward silence
before the rest of the guests collect their designer coats and bags
made from farm animals that sound nothing like the cartoons as they’re being slaughtered,
and everyone goes home a little sad and disappointed,
but not me, since, as my wife points out afterward,
i’m too damn ignorant for my own damn good
Fred Aiken Writing 