pressing the pause button
dementia may not be such a bad thing
especially from the inside
most questions become answered
though quickly enter the ether as unanswerable
—as if congealing into indifference
refrigerator door
& kitchen corner counter
well they’re mainly message boards now
[inside a wireless house]
acting as magnets for eyes passing by
—appointments & reminders
written in an all too familiar cursive
the day & date can always be found
in the the recycle bin in the garage
—yet another focal point
so many afternoons can be found
sitting on the familiar recliner
messing with the old tape recorder
pausing & playing [but not really listening]
rewinding & fast forwarding
—and vice versa
hoping to find that one sweet spot
sometime back in the roaring nineties
march two thousand twenty-five
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