When he’s well he walks, but more often not
these days. On bike, his scooter, or, if bad,
he’s confined to barracks, his life is stopped.
And yet, was mostly cheerful, never sad
till lately. Says he feels useless, past it.
His memory’s going, the shaking’s much worse
and pushes him to his very limit,
and for the first time I hear the outburst
Of anger at the disease that haunts him
and from which he knows there is no escape.
He can’t remember things, thinks he is dim.
If we thought so, I think his heart would break.
What twist of fate to seize his brain and yet
Leave just enough to wish he could forget.