Indiscriminate

is the memory feature on my phone,

a holiday in Culebra,

that October snow storm,

a grown child in her evil bunny costume,

a dog long gone,

a happy day in a previous marriage,

playing bass on the wood porch of the old house,

baby chicks,

before they were eaten by wild animals,

a smoky recording booth with blue lit faces,

standing in the cold ocean pretending to read a paper,

red hair blowing atop the Space Needle.

A pen I dropped that skirted across the rock and blew into a glacial lake.

The sound a Big Wheel makes when tied to the back of a black Huffy with the number 25

emblazoned on its racing tag.

It wasn’t really a Big Wheel,

but a Spinout 360.

Almost the same sound though.

Sitting in the driveway after my first prom.

The velvety soft front bench seat of the Buick.

My first kiss ever.

My first real kiss, not counting the time with Emmeline

because we were just kids and took no pleasure in it,

we were just trying to get to some astronomically high number so we could brag about it.

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car outside of Galway chewing a piece of gum.

He carried sticks of gum in the glove compartment for just such occasions.

Walking into my best friend’s house and thinking his mom was baking apple pie,

but it was only the potpourri.

Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog