THE CURE

     Lost in the ether of my aging brain
     Are names that once came readily on command.
     Some places, too, are slipping down the drain,
     Locations that lay mentally at hand.

     Call it a creeping fog that may obscure
     More details day by day now sharp and clear,
     Until at last, benighted, nothing sure,
     I’ll be enshrouded in a cloak of fear.

     The only way to spare myself that fate
     Is not to talk as I am doing now,
     Scaring myself until I then create
     What I fear most.  It’s that I can’t allow.

          The only way to clear my brain is to
          Relax.  Then names and places come on cue.

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