It’s not like I have thrown away the clock
or torn my calendar right off the wall.
It’s just that Time and I forget to talk.
Don’t think I’m some rickety old crock
whose brain is going Swiss-cheesed, aneurysmal,
and may soon be unfit to read a clock.
I do still find my way around the block,
can bag a mountain, make it home by nightfall,
but sometimes Time and I forget to talk.
Once in a while I do forget to lock
the door and fear I’m losing wherewithal.
But it’s not time to throw away the clock,
live in a memory ward, with doors they lock..
It’s not like I am never on the ball.
It’s just that Time and I forget to talk.
Don’t put me in some hall where neighbors squawk,
and staff stick to some brain-dead protocol.
Don’t tell me I’m too dumb to read a clock.
It’s just that Time and I no longer talk.