ON DEMENTIA

The stoic pupils, the gaze—

The movement always moving of

       objects mostly socks and teacups—

The kettle on the stove screaming—

I the fly in a poet's vapour

       wilting—

The frame tilted ever so

       down the mantel and—

The dissipation of a day's framework

       five days in a week ten hours or—

The fish eyes in a chair, lonely

       facing the television

       screen switched—

                                      off.