Dementia Bus
The glasses they give me
darken my vision, blur it
into shapes I can’t immediately
recognize. I’m supposed to
recognize. I’m supposed to
set the table for breakfast,
write a check for the electric bill,
write a check for the electric bill,
put on the brown jacket—
not the blue jacket—
not the blue jacket—
and sort the shirts in the laundry basket—
long sleeved from short.
long sleeved from short.
