A Poem from Tony…

Hi Russ,

You and Paco are a constant source of stimulation for me.  I met someone who said he was having some trouble with his memory.  And since you, me, and Paco are all getting up there, this poem irrupted.

 

The Door

He sat on the edge of the bed

waiting patiently for his memory to return.

He knew he’d find it again,

like the left shoe to

his dress-up brown wing-tips

that he liked to keep polished

more than any other pair.

They turned up again,

didn’t they.

Why not his memory?

How about the day he caught

his finger in the toaster

trying to fish out some burnt bread.

He remembered that alright!

Or last Thursday when someone introduced him

to someone who said he was supposed to know

but didn’t.

I am sure I never met that person before,

he remembered thinking.

I wouldn’t associate with someone who looked like that anyway.

Maybe he left his memory in his penny jar -

‘a penny for your thoughts’, he said out loud.

I’ve a penny but no thoughts.

What are they worth anyway if I can’t remember them?

Now let’s see, I’ve my

nice, polished brown wing-tip shoes on,

but where was I going?

He sat back down on the bed

to think it over.

He looked down at this shoes and asked them -

‘Do you know where we were going?’

Staring at them, he thought - I like my brown wing-tips

and don’t want to get them scuffed.

I think I’ll take them off.

Maybe they can find their way without me

if I put them by the door.

He looked at all the doors he had

and fell silent.

He looked down at his shoes and wondered

If they remembered which door to use.

His eyes drifted from the door to his shoes to his bed

and back.

And in that drifting,

he remembered what someone told him once:

that all you will ever need in this world

was a bed, a pair of shoes, and a door.