NO WONDER

There is no place in the United States
Where you cannot arrange a murder
For a couple of thousand dollars or
Less, she said. This was Des Moines, Iowa,

But I can't remember the occasion—
I can't even remember her name, or what
Her eyes looked like when I kissed them
Or almost anything else.

Forgetting is a kind of murder, I guess.
But if, as my aunt said about writing poetry,
You don't get no money for it, why do it?

And why this poem; failed mnemonic
That costs less than its insipid desire
To seem sincere, seem serious, does.

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