First it's names, then faces start to go. Bumping into old acquaintances becomes mildly embarrassing when both parties know that they should recognise the other but are vague about the identity of the other party and certainly don't recall his or her name.
This isn't dementia of course, but simply part of the ageing process but it does worry me that it's a foretaste of the mental state to come, should I live long enough.
He scours the Lost and Found each day,
reads each insertion with due care
but only learns of missing cats
or this and that, found here and there:
and, as days pass, to his dismay,
all that turns up is gloves and hats.
No sign, alas, of what he’s lost,
no mention, no encouragement
to lift his spirits. Drink your tea,
the nurses tell him. Be content,
they will turn up soon, fingers crossed,
those missing marbles, wait and see.