John

The room is warm, too warm
His memories have evaporated.
He strokes his harmonica.
There is something he recalls
about it’s cold, shiny surface.
He lifts it to his lips and a tune
slips past his forgetting.
Happy Days are Here Again
captures the nodding heads
In the living room and he plays
another and feels her touch his arm;
his brown eyed Mexicali Rose.
He wonders if she knew how
much he loved her and how
his wracked body yearns
to join her in the dark.