Dementia

Sputter, sputter, sputter. Ignition.
Creak of the wheels, jolt of the pedal,
Circle the yard, blades cut precision;
Tires press lines like paper and pencils.

Mutter, mutter. Broken conversation.
Engine hollers impatiently,
“You’re making the wrong decision!”
Otherwise says the grass unsettled.

Cluttered garage. Send away possessions.
Old steering wheel, nothing to reassemble.
Brought you for internal corrections,
But you’re nothing I can resemble.

Hug her goodbye. My forgotten impression
On her she’ll neglect, but I’ll remember.
I hope someday I’ll be forgiven,
I hope someday I’ll be forgiven.