THE EARLY DAYS OF FORGETTING

He looked like he had lived
forever in Tír na nÓg.

Didn't show his age
'til he was seventy.

"Ah, Hades looms!"
he joked.

Unlike Jack Sprat
he didn't eat a lot.

His wife contrary to belief
did that.

What a turn up for
the nursery rhyme.

The past always so
far yet near.

The sweetness of
the sour.

This the early days of
forgetting.

Wearing a purple sock
on his left foot.

A glamorous yellow
on the right.

Forgetting now his own
name.

Forgetting who came.

"And, who...are you?"
he asks his wife.