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Battle Of The Hemispheres
and a switch flicks
who are you he asks
it should be me
asking who are you
until the switch
flicks back to . . .
fuddled hours
gone are the simplest things
a crayon in a box of pens
then that switch
and it’s who are you
I want to go home
but in truth
it’s who are you
as now a foreign clarity of sorts
no more mumbling incoherence
no shuffling walk
now it’s clear, sure
and behold
a different person emerges
occupying my father
secretly all this time
now stepping out
through the non-dominance
and slowly
becoming the dominant part
a battle of the hemispheres
dementia – an uprising
of hidden people
from somewhere ago
Copyright ©
Clive Culverhouse
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