Arrows of time all point to an uncertain future.
But what if there were a reverse memory, a pre-
Cognition as flimsy and fickle as our dubious,
Disintegrating remembrances, a universe where 
Every possible future lay before us shimmering
Fuzzily ahead like asphalt in summer heat,
Growing clearer as we approach, then disappearing as the
Horizon puts up a new mirage awaiting us like 
Interstate oases which we always fly past,
Just missing the ramp which is the “now” we seek? We 
Know that now is the key to living a mindful
Life in the present, and that all our memories are
Maybe-memories, false to a greater degree as we age,
Nothing as verifiable as baseball statistics, that sport’s recorded
Officialdom. Still, they’re somehow more concrete than the 
Possibilities lying ahead of us. So why
Quit the present to pursue an uncertain future? Seems more un-
Reasonable even than living in the past. Recollection is based on 
Something that, at least, used to be real, while 
Time-travel is a one-way ticket to an unknowable future. 
Understanding that might lead to an obsession with nostalgia,
Visions of an idyllic, verifiable past where Ted
Williams homers in his last at bat in Fenway Park,
X-ing home plate for the last time, and discovering that  
You can go home again, at least the home you remember. Fade now to the 
Zzzzzzz…..of dreams.
                        

Canon thistle blooms violet
now one of my favorite 
late summer flowers.

Back home on the farm
thistles spelled trouble 
for me and my brother.

If Dad saw one in the field
on his way home
from the Ford factory

he’d close the pick-up
door, hard. And look for us.
What do you boys do all day?,

he’d scold, his face purpling. 
Get those weeds out before they go to seed
or you’ll have more to hoe next year.

Let’s see a little less baseball
and a little more work. Don’t you know
thistles steal water from the crops?