Bad Poetry

I've been thinking about how subjective my own memory is. If my version of events is different than my friends' (and it often is), how can I trust my own history? In that spirit, here is a combination of an old poem and an older picture. They aren't related, but I'm not above sifting through the relics of my past and connecting them to see what new stories I can make.

Eenee
Meenee
Minee
Moe

Caught that one
Then let him go.

Eenee-Meenee-Minee
You

won’t go away
but won’t come through.

Eenee
(Meanie)
Minee
Me

Tonight’s no good
but Friday’s free?

Eenee
Meenee
Minee
Then

it’s back to me
and me
again.