© What? When? Where? Who? Why?
Who am I? I don’t recognise the face that stares back at me in the mirror when I shave.
I seem to have become invisible; my individuality has practically gone to the grave…
Before me. What was that? I didn’t hear your last remark, gee it’s dark – turn the light on!
Oh pardon me it’s already on, I didn’t notice ‘cause I was a bit engrossed in the sit-com
On the box. I can’t handle the news. Who is she? Another model in designer shoes and clothes,
Talking about the weather, low pressure systems and isobars; one more avatar I suppose...
From television land where life is still magic and grand. Where’s the remote? That’s enough
For now. I’ve had a more than adequate rant from the sacred cows; time to call their bluff.
Who are you? I don’t recognise your face but it’s strangely familiar...ah yes, we worked a lot
Together. I’ve lost my memory you see. It was stolen by an elephant that was shaken but not...
Stirred; now it’s all blurred. What’s the time? Crumbs, gotta go – it was nice to see you again.
I’ve got an appointment to give some blood to pathology – Vampira has the needle at the vein.
“Now you’ll feel a slight prick,” says she. I’ve felt a slight prick for years. What’s it matter? “Ow!’
Lord that hurt! But I won’t be curt in reply. Just sign the form and storm out – time for coffee now.
We’re sitting in another converted Post Office café and music plays. What’s that tune? Can’t recall
For the moment. It’s another maddening situation and around midnight I’ll remember as I fall...
Asleep. Who missed out? Those interminable jokes about being short; sorry...vertically challenged!
I wish I was invincible, bullet-proof like in the (good?) old days - pre decimal currency, untrammelled
By thoughts of inadequacy. Why did I bother? The pathetic struggle for ecstasy that leads to despair.
I’m dreaming of a white chrysanthemum or was it Mum in white? She haunts me but I do declare:
It gets easier to avoid the slings and arrows. Why bother to deny? I can’t tolerate the football or tennis,
Golf or cricket. I like surfing...on the net and poetry and ukulele and drinking wine is fine and Venice
Was amazing! Travel broadens the mind (and the waistline) sitting in the coach. Where are we the noo?
I’m yet to get to Paris. Harassed I am by the thought that the city of light is beyond me – Mon Dieu!
When’s it my turn? Stuck in a hospital in Switzerland gasping for breath, wondering what’s left for me.
Back in Australia with all the expensive breathing paraphernalia that I must use every night to stay free
Of the Grim Reaper. What’s the worry? Sometimes I think it might be cheaper just to remain upright.
Just have the odd snooze on the couch whilst I sort through the barrage of trivia in my brain tonight.
Turn up the volume please; I’ll put the shawl around my knees and... Why are my shoes so far away?
It’s getting harder to reach the laces; I’m wearing slippers more each day. Now, what did they say?
I’m quite afraid that next I’ll need a hearing aid. Speak up damn you – haven’t you heard of enunciation?
No! It’s not a term for a nun who sends a communication over the Internet in a state of agitation.
I feel more agitated than the washing machine, more tumbled than the dryer. Why are things... harder?
To understand, comprehend, follow the trend and blend in: who cares? Let’s eat – what’s in the larder?
Be reasonable: do it my way. Don’t give me grief, it wasn’t so long ago I was chief cook and bottle wash,
Where’s my handkerchief? Lord but my arm aches and I’ve got the shakes – must have been the swash-
Buckling nurse with the needle. When do we go back to see the doctor who, incidentally, has just returned
From a trek in New Zealand? Humph, alright for some but I’m not miffed or overcome or concerned.
There’s still lots of films to see; books to read; places to be; wine to drink, concerts to hear.... dear, it’s cold!
Turn up the heater. I don’t know if we could be bothered with the theatre after all. (Sigh) I hate getting old.