Known Bug

Known Bug

The poem and the picture are not contemporaneous. Best guess, decades apart. A buddy commented on the picture praising the parking abilities of some poor bastard. And the puppy be Shiloh, our first dog. SNZ was in law school and insisted going to an afternoon class. I dug her car out, and off she went to five minutes around the block, and had  second thoughts, given the rate of  snow fall.

And the poem, you know, some early onset of age old doubt, couched in some, then  trending, tech inside joke.


Where did I put my
Where did I shelve my
Ditto the deftness and
along with knack and
know how.

But what I’ve really lost
is an interest…
in just about anything.

You know what?
I’m becoming an
undocumented feature.


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I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.