Perpetual Decline

I remember
talking to her
about her knee
a couple years ago.

Having had
a torn meniscus,
I just wanted to
see where she was at,
cheer her up a little.

I told her they’d
do the surgery,
she’d go through
physical rehabilitation,
and it was gonna be hard,
but she’d come out
feeling better
than ever.

She looked at me
like I was so naive.

“I’m 80 years old,”
she frowned.
“This isn’t going
to ‘get better.'”

I felt dumb
for a while.
Maybe she was right.

But then I remembered
she had always
been like that.

was the end of
the world.

She was
going to recover

So now she’s lying
in the back bedroom,
unable to walk
and talking to people
who aren’t there,
her last true
lucid moment
a few months
behind her.

She was technically correct,
but for the wrong reasons.

She always
assumed the worst,
so one day
she had to be right.

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