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Rusty


Rusty

Rusty

I came across this poem called ‘A Little Mixed Up’ in a compilation by Denny Davis. I’m not sure who the author is, but I find it goes well with today’s theme of ‘rusty’.

Rusty after all, can refer to the physical form or the state of our minds and bodies.

While it’s easy to feel sad about biological changes in old age, I thought this poem shows us how to take it with a pinch of salt.

After all, in the words of Mark Twain – ‘Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been.’

             ‘A LITTLE MIXED UP’

Just a line to say to say I’m living,
that I’m not among the dead
Though I’m getting more forgetful,
and mixed up in my head;

I’ve got used to my arthritis,
To my dentures I’m resigned.
I can manage my bifocals,
But, Oh God, I miss my mind.

For sometimes I don’t remember,
At the bottom of the stairs
If I was going up for something,
or if I just came down from there.

And before the fridge so often,
my poor mind is filled with doubt–
Have I put the food away . . .
Or come to take some out?

There are times when it is dark
And my nightcap’s on my head
I don’t know if I’m retiring,
or just getting out of bed;

So if it’s my turn to write you,
There’s no need in getting sore,
I may think that I have written
And I don’t want to be a bore.

Please remember that I love you,
And I wish that you were here;
But now it’s nearly mail time,
So I must say goodbye, my dear.

Now here I stand beside the mailbox,
With my face so very red,
Instead of mailing you my letter,
I have opened it instead!

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