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At Least I Have My Mind

Updated on October 16, 2013

At Least I have My Mind

By Tony DeLorger © 2011

Call the buglers, I have found my glasses,

they were perched upon my head where I left them.

Woe is me, that I find myself enacting the foibles of my father in age,

stepping none too gently on my own two feet.

I hear myself bellowing those mirrored words of condemnation,

to my kids, who none the wiser, consider my ranting original.

In thought I stand here holding my hands as my Grandmother did,

stoic and with a dash of calm confidence from a world of hardship.

Yet me, having a charmed life, hold them just the same,

without the war, depression nor the confidence of survival.

Am I but a reflection of my inherent bits?

Falling to my conglomerated traits, my family’s endowment,

my make up, disintegrating with the years.

I have lost my glasses again,

If only I could find my other pair, I could see to find.

I sit, exhausted in my plump ergonomic chair,

and look down on my stomach, ever growing.

It stares back at me defiantly.

My father had no stomach, he was trim till departure.

My God, I have added a trait to my poor future family,

what a legacy I leave in my stumbling years.

I left the gas on after dinner last night; my son just shook his head.

Perhaps I am subconsciously trying to end it all,

before my metamorphoses to clown is complete.

Oh the indignity, a slow and repugnant decline awaits me,

my children, my carers, and me the child.

At least I have my mind.

Or do I?


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