A Day In My Life
There is one who tends to wander
And seems to be raving at ghosts.
There is another who struggles
With complex sentences.
A third seems to puke at odd times,
Otherwise, he is mute.
And then there is me.
Groucho, Chico, Harpo & Zeppo.
Curly, Larry, Moe & Shemp.
The Three Musketeers plus d’Artagnan.
Four pees in a sterile pod.
A genuine four-ring cardiac circus.
I don’t want the role of ringmaster.
It seems I have it by default,
The others lacking wit or awareness.
Difficult to believe,
But I’m the healthiest patient here.
I look around and I look ahead
To find myself circling ever nearer
To their event horizon,
Being drawn into their
Dark and sinister singularity.
Given a choice,
I would not have that happen to me,
I would pray (?) for one
With courage enough
To spare me this indignity.
How do I engage with any of these
Near empty shells,
These drying bones and scales
Left on the shore for birds to pluck?
I can attend to their delusions,
Indulge their fever-dreams
To ease their passage,
Do my best to keep them safe
And spare both them and others
From their excesses.
Or avert my eyes and ears
To offer them space to endure
Their mounting indignities
In private?
Palimpsest 
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