Thief

I struggle to recall days of making do, when buttered crackers and coffee was all that anyone knew, and the word, “depression” meant cardboard in my shoes to ward off snow, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.

Yet, a thief is in my home, stealing names and faces and refusing to replace them with ones I know, though you insist I am confused. And this clown keeps moving chairs around until I’m angry and perturbed, though I heard you doubt this too.

So, speak to me in dulcet tones and be kind and caring, too, for in spite of my fading memory, I was once like you, dear. I was once like you.