He still remembers me
and that’s good.
He remembers most things
most of the time
but
he struggles more.

He has to work harder
for smaller results.
He still walks about the neighborhood
and still asks questions
to the people around him.
But
he introduces himself
to his neighbors of thirty years
and
he doesn’t walk much past a block.

His world is getting smaller
his routines more regimented
his intelligence less flexible.
He is shrinking
while I shirk less responsible.

He appreciates that,
I think,
though he rarely mentions it.
He used to be more appreciative.
He used to remember to be polite.
Now
he remembers what he can.