Dementia

One of four of my poems published in the 16th edition, 2016 anthology.

Bruised and beaten, the car

bit a slice of sheetrock as it

parked in the garage. A bell

protested when the driver’s

door opened and closed partway.

The engine whined. A signal

light insisted on a right turn

while the man shuffled

straight inside the house.

The car’s seats wrinkled

their noses at shriveled

toothpaste tubes, blind

light bulbs, and withered

hamburger buns. Inside a

nest of papers, the car key

nestled. Waited.

For days, the man’s wife

had opened the door,

probed the floor,

pocketed the key,

clicked off the engine.

This time, she hid the key

in an omelet of coins, clips,

and skeletons of keys

inside the kitchen drawer.

The drawer closed its mouth.

Forgot the key.