The memories that come without cause, without call
Echo again and again in my head
The season of warmth that leads into fall
Ignores the future, calls the past here instead
That past idle thought of working with tools
Hit me as I helped fix a bike
The idle in sun, a pastime for fools
Comes back when I may do as I like
The air in the sky brings on scattered memories
Past classes taken in Royal Oak
To walk in a bright heat, hoping for breeze
Back when I hung out with other folk
I wonder why I wander among such old diversions
Is it idleness or idol-ness at fault?
I suppose I will see how it is eventually
If this distraction continues its assault
Or if next week it comes to a halt
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