Alzheimer’s Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

He stood, hand on the door,
wondering why he was there.
There had been no sound, he was sure
of that, but it must have been clear
before why he was going out;
perhaps he had simply forgotten why.
He knew there was something he ought
to have done. He slowly made his way
back in. Saw the clutter of post
in his hand and put the letters down.
Searched the close and distant past
for someone he had perhaps known.
Tore a letter open and read
the unfamiliar words that were his own
and could not understand what it was they said.