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.

Copyright © Bill Knott, 2003 All Rights Reserved.