I have forgotten the day, the month, the year.
I have forgotten the feel of salt wind
On the skin, the velvet of cats.
I have forgotten mouth organ music,
The tang of metal on teeth,
The smell of durian, the scent of the frangipan,
Rough wool at the throat.
I have forgotten the Kowloon waterfront,
The thin limbs in the small hours,
How many times I have been drunk,
The number of fights I have started and stopped.
I have forgotten my friend, companion and lover.
I have forgotten his name.
I have forgotten the condescension of my nurses,
The slops I had for breakfast,
The last time I shat myself.
I have forgotten my hopes for the future.
I suck breath. I soak my bed.
I am dead but do not die.
There is no more to me.
Edward John Anderson is a retired GP. The poem was selected by Femi Oyebode.
Published in The Hippocrates Prize Anthology, Hippocrates Press, 2012.
© Edward John Anderson. Reprinted with permission.
eLetters
No eLetters have been published for this article.