by Mary Jo Salter
Forgive me for not writing sober,
I mean before, but I almost never
Dare to see what I write, I keep making mating mistakes,
I mean do and I hike
when I inherited something
my father has.
I didn’t understand until he tried
to introduce myself to someone:
“This is my doctor,” he said,
then said no more, “my daughter.”
The man nodded politely
out the door.
I thought: is this dimension
what I’m heading for
I mean dementia.|
Not Autheimers, but the kind he has,
Possessive aphasia: oh that’s good,
I meant progressive.
Talk about euthanasia!
I mean euphemism
beautiful words in your head not there,
and it’s no progress at all.
No, he’s against the boil
after years now of a sad, slow wall
and he’s so hungry
I mean angry.
Me too. I gotta get my rhymes straight
while I still mine. I mean can.
from Zoom Rooms by Mary Jo Salter (Knoipf, 2022).