Clockwork

Nothing alarming actually, simply
seems a tad remarkable that in
her feeble dotage where what was
once routine is no longer recalled
and we may no longer logically
anticipate what she may do,
hoping by good fortune to intercept
unsavoury events, one memory
tic does remain intact. Blind
and deaf, her sense of smell now
impaired, her balance at times
teetering, unable to remember
during the course of the day
to go to her water bowl, indeed
even locate where her food bowl
is situated without being deposited
head directly over it; at 5:00 in
the afternoon she awakens suddenly
from deep sleep to begin pacing
endlessly, awaiting, we assume,
her dinner, lovingly prepared to
whet her newly-robust appetite,
with all manner of delectable tidbits
for at her age what does it matter?