Sunny Day on Scorpions

She told me that she hadn’t had a favorite band

since she was a kid; when she had time for that.

When you lose something, living or not,

(a death, a misplacement)

there is a moment of confusion like made-up

David Byrne lyrics asking, “How did I get here?

This is not my wonderful life.”

Sometimes, she said, she’d rather be playing

an oboe in a tunnel with an old gunslinger

than remember what used to be normal.