The Shelf Didn't Forget

I found the deodorant in the closet.

My old brand. Cap on. The label faded

on one side from years of window light.

It had just been there. Just waited.

I threw it in the trash without opening it.

That was two weeks ago. I'm back

in the old room. Boxes in the corner.

Two shirts on the rod. The crack

in the ceiling I remember is still there.

The room is the same temperature.

I keep saying that. Something small,

something I can measure.

The shelf is empty now.

I'm back in the old bed.

The deodorant is in the trash.

I keep saying that instead

of whatever I actually mean.