June 12, 2020
You Still Know Me
By Alan Balter
once they would have called you “feeble minded”
or “senile,” but now they say you’re “demented”
not that it matters to me my friend,
because I call you Michael
the nurses say you don’t know me, but when
I hold your quaking hand in mine
and a crooked smile plays around your lips
I know they’re mistaken
not long ago we played our games
between sugar maple trees and a red brick building
where they warehoused sheets of metal for some war
instead of once brilliant men
and the day after, we went to college
where we learned the law yet still found time
to write poetry for pretty coeds with blond hair
and full lips who loved us in your rusty Studebaker
then somehow, it became today
and I’ve come to visit you, as I will tomorrow,
and your eyes will brighten because you still know me
my good and dear friend Michael
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