Bumfuzzled in St. Louis
I don’t know why my wife and I
are up at four in the morning
sitting in recliners drinking coffee
staring at half-hour commercials
claiming to cure everything
that bothers old folks like us.
Twenty years ago,
neither of us took aspirin,
never mind drink prune juice.
Now my wife eats things like
kiwi and kale, mind you,
and frowns at my burgers.
And we’re wondering why
I seem to forget stuff
she remembers and I recall
stuff she seems to forget.
Could it be age, I comment sagely.
Maybe it’s dementia, she says,
because that’s the only thing
we haven’t dealt with yet.
I tell her not a chance.
We’re a couple of codgers
who will soon be coots
and we’re bumfuzzled by
the commotion around us.
We’re not Ozzie and Harriet
and we’re not Lucy and Desi
and we haven’t seen commotion
like this before in our lives.
My wife says not to worry because
the confusion will end when we die.
Donal Mahoney
