Brain looks at computer screen
inside skull, cannot come up with the right
word, duh, and scratches its head.
Flummoxed, feeling brain dead?
Must be Alzheimer’s!
Don’t you hate it when Mr. Eyeball stares
at the cross-hairs and cannot provide
the word, the correct label for our griefs
and our linguistic murders.
Happens a lot, and I am getting older,
full-fledged member of the geezer riders,
and it’s making me weep to awake to green
dots outside, and not the precise vocabulary
I once possessed and tamed,
trained to do my bidding. Now
I wake thinking of mosquito-borne diseases,
sneezes, and the language escapes
that would make sense of my life once more.