She is sure it was a question.
It must have been.
There were the wide open eyes
and
the little turned up word at the end.
“Come on Mairi, you know the answer”
The woman says.
Mairi is sure she does.
She runs up the flight of stairs into her mind.
She knows she has it somewhere
but there are phrases and bits of words everywhere.
She looks under the colour of grass
and how to wash your hands.
But
the answer isn’t there.
The woman grows impatient
so Mairi grabs anything,
runs down the steps and
tells
the her what’s on TV on Tuesdays.
This isn’t right.
You can tell by the woman’s face.
So she runs up into her mind and searches again.
Then she finds the answer
and hurries down to the door,
holding it tight so it can’t escape.
But when she gets down
the woman has moved on to something else.
And
the answer is gibberish.
© John Burns, 2001. No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form, including electronic formats or transmission, without written permission from the author. All rights reserved.