Memory Lost

Red Amaryllis
(Bob wrote this poem cognitive enough to know
he was losing his memory)

To seduce dim-sighted consumers,

cherries piled on a sale table–

are half rotten.

If Paul doesn’t honk, I’ll be

lost in this parking lot.

Camrys like ours

all carry spiral-bound maps

in the rear windows.

I’ll walk home.

My cane with its

leaf-crowned god

will guide me over potholes.

Near on our front door,

scarlet amaryllis blaze.

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