Unreachable

Three seconds in a bar and now it's Friday

and I'm still reaching for it, Tuesday

to now, that song, that phrase,

that thing on the edge of my mouth

I can almost taste but can't pronounce.

It's there. It's not there.

I'm going crazy over nothing, over

a melody I don't even like,

over the shape of something

that might mean nothing.

It sits right at my tongue's edge,

the word, the sound, the—

the what? The when? The who?

I can hum it. I can almost

feel the syllables forming.

I can almost get there.

But then it slips. It's gone.

And I'm reaching again, Friday now,

and it's still Tuesday in my head,

still that bar, still that three seconds,

still that feeling of being this close,

this close, but never quite arriving,

never quite catching it,

never quite knowing what the hell

I've been trying to remember

all this time.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

Maybe it does.

Either way, it's still there,

still at the edge,

still refusing to come.