is it tuesday?

am i slipping, i think.

as i

search

for keys, leave

the door unlatched,

is it tuesday, or friday,

i ponder as i

forget a stamp before

dropping a letter

into the box.

is this

sudden fog of thought

a portent of

days to come.

of being taken

away,

being cared for by

strangers

in white coats,

a spoon full of oatmeal

upon my tongue.

is it possible, that life

is done?