I found the list in a notebook I don't use

I found the list in a notebook I don't use,

tucked behind a sketch of a kitchen chair.

'Heavy Cream,' 'Batteries,' 'Bulbs for the fuse,'

written in a hurry while I sat right there.

I didn't know that by four that afternoon

the transmission would give up the ghost,

leaving me stranded under a daylight moon

while the engine started to sizzle and roast.

A coffee ring has bled into the page,

turning 'Milk' into a brown, illegible blot.

It’s a relic from a different, easier age

before I knew exactly what I hadn't caught.

I was just a person who needed some cream

and a pack of AAs for the remote on the shelf.

I was living inside of a very small dream

where I could still count on the car and myself.