February 14, 2011A Fading MemoryCarol A. Taylor

Two elderly farmers rocked on the front porch,
talking and scratching an old hound dog’s head.
“I swanny, I’m getting so gol-derned forgetful
I can’t remember your dog’s name,” said Red.

Sam pondered a moment, then turned to his friend
and grinned, “What’s the name of that flower that grows
on the fence by the mailbox, with thorns on its stem?”
His visitor answered, “Oh, you mean a rose.”

“That’s it,” Sam exclaimed. “That’s the flower I mean!”
He threw down the Burpee’s spring seed catalog,
reached over his shoulder, and opened the screen.
“Rose!” he yelled in. “What’s the name of our dog?”