Bench Pressing God

My capacity
is limited
my organic machinery
fallible
	a hole in my bag of walnuts
I dribble memories

	why am I looking
	inside this cupboard?

I can forget
to pick up milk
my dry cleaning
forget my own name
and yet
I can never
forget you
hardwired
into my cerebellum
like the guts of a pumpkin

I don’t need tombstones
or holiday reminders
but the notes of a song
they can bench press God
project you sitting on my kitchen counter
smoking a cigarette
giving me a smirk

I play the song again
and have you back
just for another few
muscle memory
miracle minutes.

© Christian McPherson