You can lose your money,
You can lose your temper,
You can lose your mind,
You can lose your sense of direction
You can lose track
Of almost anything.
Once I lost my balance
On the edge of a mountain cliff
And fell thousands of feet.
Once I lost my appetite
For no apparent reason
And ate nothing but rice cakes,
Because they have no taste.
Once I lost a favorite pen,
And couldn’t write anything
But notes to myself
Which made no sense.
I’ll gladly lose myself in ecstasy,
Once I find its hiding place.
Someday I’ll lose weight,
But not until the bacon
In the refrigerator is gone,
And the chocolate chip cookies
Have disappeared.
Proust became famous
Searching for lost time.
But how do you lose time?
Does it hide somewhere,
Along with single socks
And books you always
Meant to read but didn’t,
Because you watched TV.
Is it in the dark recesses of the closet,
Or under the bed,
Or has it simply diffused
Like an odor, into the air?
You can have too little time,
Or too much time,
But you can’t lose time,
Because anything lost,
Can surely be found.
© Dennis Hathaway
[return to POTD index]