I once had real dexterity;
Now my fingers fumble.
I once was agile and could dance;
Now I veer and stumble.

I knew the Franco-Prussian War;
I wrote on it in school,
But now I can’t think of the year.
It’s bewildering and cruel.

Hamlet’s only trusted friend?
I taught the play for years.
Homer, Horace... something Ho...
Its loss brings me to tears.

Neighbors, friends, and family
Met in unfamiliar places
I greet with rising panic
When I can’t put names to faces.

An English word I know I know
Answers a crossword clue,
But it’s gone. A day is coming
I won’t even know I knew.

I’ve no interest now in headlines
I no longer understand...
Corruption, war, upheaval,
And romage in the land.

My pastimes and my hobbies...
So much a part of Self...
Diaries, albums, scrapbooks...
Gather dust high on a shelf.

My soul is cleaning house, it seems,
With each new disappearance,
An inventory liquidation,
An information Clearance.

It’s like a yard sale in the brain,
Where no one has to pay.
Take what you like, I guess. It’s FREE.
I’m giving it away.

Is it good to clear this clutter?
Most things no longer tempt me.
The road ahead is still... and clear...
.... and just a little empty.