Lost in Plain Sight

Somewhere recently I lost my short-term memory. It was there and then it moved like the flash of a red fox along a line fence. My short-term memory has no address but here no time but now. It is a straight-man, waiting to speak to fill in empty space with name, date, trivia, punch line. And then it fails to show. It is lost, hiding somewhere out back a dried ragweed stalk on the Kansas Prairie holding the shadow of its life against a January wind. How am I to go on? I wake up a hundred times a day. Who am I waiting for what am I looking for why do I have this empty cup on the porch or in the yard? I greet my neighbor, who smiles. I turn a slow, lazy Susan in my mind, looking for some clue, anything to break the spell of being lost in plain sight.