Selective Amnesia
I wish I knew
what I was thinking
when I bought those
hip polyester striped pants.
I don't remember
(that's what I tell myself)
how I could walk
on those five inch heels.
The picture of me
in my mother's bathingsuit
has been burned and thrown away.
(Yet it reappears somehow.)
My teenage daughter
tries to convince me
that she has to have
that flashy outfit.
My selective amnesia is gone,
when I see the look on her face.
Lindsey Milton 1999
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