Day Eighteen, NaPoWriMo

Hey you don’t have complete control over what goes on in your head, especially late at night!

All the old stuff precariously stuck
in my head, there’s no telling when it may,
and it may, surface at the most
inopportune time, you know how that goes.
What was I saying? Oh yes, all the thoughts
the memories, the tales of things long past
they come back, and often do, unlooked for,
unasked and sometimes unwanted, they appear.
It is sweet to remember my grandma
the summer fireplace with my dad singing
warm days in a boat fishing on the lake
the whistling of wind with January snow
But here, an ancient song learned long ago,
comes back to ask sternly: who’s the fool now?
But having made me look up the lyrics
I’ve still no answer for that rousing line
So memory that’s butted in, who’s the fool now?