Best of Luck

untrained in dementia
& alzheimers patients, I gaze around;
these seniors are wilted
drenched by faded sun through drawn curtains &
tempered light from the television

They’re tired, you say, oh-so-casually,
I’m tired too. . .

You don’t know this, miss, but
I couldn’t sleep mulling this interview
I arrived to the wrong place first &
still pressed on, accepting then
I’d fucked my first impression

heart thundering & shifty-eyed
you say you’ll show me downstairs
a dozen old couches and antique chairs
tables, refrigerators, porcelain plates
washers, dryers, scattered remains
of lives … and I
[could’ve bolted through the back door]
slammed back in my car &
LEFT [there and then]

That’s when I said fuck it, because
I know what people like you hate to hear
So—- I said what I did
Just to make you distrust me since

You’d reminded me when I was worn
                               down to
                               my last
      And asked if there was something
                                me/ that

Hiding my disease feels necessary
& I have no other choice, but
unlike your cheery bullshit
I know society at large doesn’t give a fuck
about these poor people
about you
or me

Best of Luck —


[Authors Note: even if we could switch shoes I wouldn’t let you walk in mine for a second]