When I checked my calendar at 7:50 a.m.,
I put on my old thinking hat.
The “W.T. 8 a.m.” I wrote
had me asking out loud, “What’s that?”
Might be work time, or walk-a-thon.
Wishful thinking… watch television.
I know it isn’t worn thin, or walk tall,
or a weary traveler’s mission.
I certainly hope it doesn’t stand for white trash.
I’m sure it’s not William Tell.
Wow. My sleep deprived guesses
are surely not going well.
What time? What then? What in the world did
I mean by W.T.?
I’m afraid the answer may have to remain
an eternal mystery.
Perhaps it’s wait time, or water table?
Maybe watch or water tower?
Dear lord, the clock is ticking fast.
Could that really be the hour?
I doubt it’s world trade or travel,
wide turn, or even wing tip.
But there’s no doubt about this -
my brain’s beginning to dip.
At 7:55, the phone rang.
This was to be my last shot
to finally remember
what my aging mind forgot.
It’s Tammy saying she is up,
she won’t need my wake-up call.
She thanks me for offering. I fib and say,
“It was no trouble at all.”
Oh, of course! W.T.
meant ‘Wake Tammy’ at eight.
She was counting on me,
because I’m never late.
Now it’s time for me to accept a sad fact.
My memory is wasting.
Is 8 a.m. too early to enjoy
a personal wine tasting?
© 2012 L.E.H.
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