the inconvenience of memory

Easy to forget the important things,
huh?
Brother's birthday,
French verb forms,
doctor's appointments,
the oven you left on.
So why can't I forget 
the color of nail polish I was wearing?
Can't forget
my cherry earrings,
how one of my socks was white and
the other was cream (some unimportant Thursday.)
I remember the eye color
of every person I've ever liked 
all the words to 
camp songs, insurance jingles,
plot points of "Grey's Anatomy," season 8,
who sat next to me our last dinner in Galway,
the worst thing my mother has ever said to me.
Things that don't matter anymore.
Things that never mattered.
Things I'd like to forget.
Things I'd quickly replace with
the equation of a parabola,
or the molecular weight of water.

But my memory has a sense of humor.