March Madness | Poetry Prompt

In the U.S. March Madness is linked to NCAA Men’s basketball. Here, we’re going to do something a little different. Let’s focus more on the madness in that phrase.

Let’s take Spring Fever to its next level.

Your mission- Write a poem about someone living through a different kind of March madness. Focus on the person losing something in life, whether it’s a relationship, a tree, a fish, etc. Write it and make your words count. Remember every post linked up here has a possibility for publication in the 2016 Anthology.

Write fearlessly, invite your friends, and happy writing!

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One thought on “March Madness | Poetry Prompt

  1. WHO MOVED THE DINER?
    (Alzheimer’s Disease)

    69 years old:

    My son asks during
    our phone conversation
    what I ate for dinner last night.
    Roasted chicken, sweet potatoes,
    peas and onions, I respond.

    I explain to my friends
    at our weekly Tuesday breakfast
    that I am ten minutes late
    because my son called me.
    Marvin asks about
    my grandchildren’s summer plans.
    I tell him music camp, again.

    Falling asleep
    I try to reassure myself,
    after all we do eat chicken frequently
    and my grandkids did attend
    music camp the last few summers.

    71 years old:

    I just hung up the phone with my son
    who seems to be calling more often.
    He asked me what I had for dinner last night.
    Chicken with vegetables I answered
    and quickly moved on to another topic.

    At Tuesday breakfast
    I apologize for missing
    the previous week’s breakfast.
    They ask me where I was.
    At a doctor’s appointment, I lie.
    We frequently discuss
    our medical conditions
    over eggs and laughter
    so they suspect nothing unusual,
    which makes me feel guilty.

    My son must think all we eat is chicken.
    As for missing breakfast, I now
    put a small red “x” in the top corner
    of the current day on the calendar
    I bought last week for the kitchen.

    73 years old:

    My son calls almost daily
    on his drive home from work.
    He asks me what I ate last night
    and I tell him days tend
    to blend together in retirement.

    I drive to breakfast Tuesday morning
    wondering when the supermarket
    and restaurant on the corner
    changed to a bank and dry cleaners.
    As I turn left, I am surprised
    the diner moved as well.

    At that moment my wife calls
    on the cell phone
    she has asked me to carry
    the last six months.
    Marvin called the house to see why
    I wasn’t at breakfast she says.
    She asks me
    the names of the street signs
    I see around me
    and stays on the phone
    giving me directions
    all the way home.

    Like

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