Left On The List

Found it crumpled, deep in a pocket,

weeks old, probably. Ink smudged.

'Milk,' checked off. 'Bread,' checked.

'Lightbulbs,' a hurried scribble, checked too.

But 'aspirin' was still there,

standing lonely, un-ticked.

Like a small, persistent pain

I’d forgotten to alleviate.

Or chosen not to.

It just sits there now, a quiet accusation,

a small piece of paper, full of things

I once needed, and things I still do.