I'll Think of Something

A perfect Americano and a full moon hazy through thin clouds and new leaves.  Days so busy they don't register.  What happened in April?  The world is serious.  I don't show it.  Alone, I try to think of something, though too many thoughts contend.  Swirl, rattle, bang.  It has always worked before, my mind.  Served me well.  I'll think of something, I tell the cat.  I'd better think of something.  Weight perched on forelegs, she reaches down to groom.  I try to compose an email, a long overdue response to an old friend.  The words fall flat like tailings.  They won't do.  I think of people I don't see, friends I've not contacted.  Distraction.  Carelessness.  Though it is cool, the days suggest the coming summer.  I will eschew brown liquors I tell myself.  Perhaps I will only drink champagne and tea.  It would be the aristocratic thing to do. A beer now and then.  And, of course, Americanos.  But the Kentucky Derby is Saturday.  What shall we do for that?  I wonder what happened to that old Panama hat I bought in Ecuador so long ago?  Saturday is a day for hats.  I realize I've been staring, hands on the keyboard. . . for how long?  I reach for the empty glass and ponder making another.  No use, I say.  I can't write a thing tonight.  That is clear.