were a necessity. There was
nothing to get in my way on a Sunday
from running on the grass; I was never
hampered by elastic digging into my waist
or worried about hair showing through.
I can remember back before computers
were invented, before teachers printed out
banners of dot matrix bunnies. When
we all had typewriters and ribbons.
We knew the smell of whiteout could stir
up impatience in even the most even temper.
I can remember back before condiments
came in plastic squeezy bottles.
When jars were glass, and mustard was
something I spread with a knife,
yellow soaking into the dark brown
bread for grandma's ham sandwich.
I can remember back before we met
in another Millennium, on another world.
When I drew in my red sketch book
and you wrote stories in your green one.
We both thought life was all about the future,
but we weren't prepared for the past.