If you’re older and somehow not dying,
Yet
live with dementia or worse,
Prepare
to be hit with some lying
Before
your last ride in a hearse.
This
strategy’s gaining approval
As
nursing homes struggle to cope
With
patients whose memory removal
Deprives
them of reasons to hope.
So
little white lies are suggested
Like,
“Your husband will visit real soon”
Since
the truth often can’t be digested
And
no time will be quite opportune.
Or,
“Let’s visit the nursery; maybe
You’ll
help rock your child to sleep,”
Where
a doll substitutes for the baby
Which
remains where the memories keep.
If
deception brings comfort, I wonder
Why,
to me, it just doesn’t feel right
Reaching
into one’s psyche to plunder
What
the mind has kept tucked out of sight.
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