cheryl davis miller
The Twilight Zone
How did I get here,
tell me what, was my crime?
Was it growing older,
with the passing, of time?
If I can’t swallow my medication,
it’s recorded ‘Patient Refused’,
Or call someone, by the wrong name,
then it’s ‘Patient’s Confused’,
If I don’t feel, like doing therapy,
the nurse has the Doctor’s ear,
he will call-in, what she requests,
then I can’t think very clear.
When I get tired of probes and needles,
and I raise up my hand,
I’m declared, to be combative,
and they call for, Ata-van.
Or should I, become restless,
cause medications, don’t agree,
they decide it is ‘Alzheimer’s’,
and then slap a patch on me.
If it appears, that all I do of late,
is lie in bed, and moan,
it’s because, my ‘Twilight Years’,
have now become, ’The Twilight Zone’.
Who will be my voice,
for it seems I can’t, articulate,
look on me, and intervene, my friend,
before you share my fate.
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