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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.

4 Comments Post a comment
  1. I’m dealing with this with my next door neighbor. It’s happened so quickly (less than 4 months) that her family has had to scramble to find help. So unsettling for all of us who love her.

    Liked by 1 person

    August 21, 2017
    • My father-in-law is going through this. Very hard indeed. This is not something anyone should have to go through.

      Liked by 1 person

      August 22, 2017
  2. Very evocative expression of what dementia does to one.


    August 22, 2017
    • Thank you, Victoria, for visiting my blog and taking the time to read and comment on my poem. I look forward to reading your posts! Terri


      August 25, 2017

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