I remember it differently—
the logo, the ending,
the way gold used to fall.
But they say,
“that never happened.”
So I smile,
tail still,
in the timeline that won.
I remember the other dog—
the one who barked first
when the chart turned red.
I remember cola
tasting sharper,
and the sky
being less certain.
They say it’s memory.
I say it’s residue—
from a parallel that collapsed
into this one.
I remember it differently—
the logo, the ending,
the way gold used to fall.
But they say,
“that never happened.”
So I smile,
tail still,
in the timeline that won.
I remember the other dog—
the one who barked first
when the chart turned red.
I remember cola
tasting sharper,
and the sky
being less certain.
They say it’s memory.
I say it’s residue—
from a parallel that collapsed
into this one.
