I forgot to feed the middle tomato 
the runt in the row of three, my mind
not what it used to be, the terrible
disease my mother has, we of a kind,

can’t deny the dire possibility.
The best I can do is try to move with ease
into a future without memories,
through these days that time will tease

were my good days, before I went downhill
staring through blank eyes at my wife and daughter
strangers, though even stranger still will 
be wondering who I am — how laughter

and joy every minute of every day
while more and more of me slips away?