My memory seems to be going.

You might even say that it’s gone.

It’s taken things that were worth knowing.

Where I left my glasses is one.

Sometimes I might go to my bedroom

Then wonder what I’m doing there.

Recollection just doesn’t have headroom.

This travesty hardly seems fair.

I look in my bag for my tissues

Instead I find packets of cheese.

You could definitely say I have issues

But dealing with them is no breeze.

My recall is quite enigmatic.

There seems little reason or rhyme.

Why my memory is so erratic,

Unrelated to passing of time.

I remember my first favourite teddy;

I remember his look and his name.

But I stand in the middle of Tesco

Trying to work out why I came.

Remembering can be a battle,

But one that I have to keep fighting.

I’ll keep doing poems, as long as

I never forget what I’m

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