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The Upstairs Uncle

He's three score years and ten, he's known as Uncle Ken,

We used to visit now and then, but now he sleeps on our top floor,

A resident in our family den, but he never shuts his bedroom door,

And on the hour half dressed and stressed, he's up again and wanting more,

His gaunt lost face pleads for time and place,

Impossible to reassure, impossible to ignore,

In disbelief he shakes his head, ...it's half past ten !... it's half past four !

Are you sure ?

Now please lets get you back to bed,

You won't know I've already said this time and time and time before,

But its ok, I'm not keeping score,

Just let's not have an encore..


But he's forgotten how to think, words for things are now extinct,

He relieves himself in our bathroom sink, he's lost the link,

Between ideas and plans, a toothbrush enigmatic in his hands,

The shifting sands of where and what he's seen, has been blown away by a rogue protein,

He's all in the present but not correct, a lifetimes thoughts he can't collect,

Reliant on me to protect, a future without neglect,

But should he stay or should he go ?

He's forgotten more than I shall ever know .....