Greased Watermelon - Oct 16 2026

 

Greased Watermelon

Oct 16 2026

The word that comes to me

on the cusp of sleep

hours after I needed it.

It was there, on the tip of my tongue

before slipping away;

a letter or two

that linger like the aftertaste

that leaves you wanting more.

As frustrating

as the greased watermelon

at a pool party

squirting out of your hands.

As the maching at the penny arade

with a box full of prizes

and the dangling claw.

The word, slipping from my tongue

like that cheap watch

from its loosely grasping tentacles.

Memory, but not a good one

when it's there – you know it is --

but can't retrieve it.

There

on the tip of your tongue

There

in some hinterland of your brain

at the bottonm of a long winding sulcus

where it moulders away

in some grey-haired neuron

too vain to use a cane.

A long way to go,

like those Sunday drives down gravel roads

looking at fallow fields

and hearing the kids complain.

Is this how dementia starts,

the first shiver

in a death of cold?

Is my brain overcrowded,

like rush hour

when a lane is closed

and no one lets you merge?

Or is it corroding,

rust

flaking off the wiring

and mucking up the veins?

But doesn't getting the word, eventually

count for something?

Could this be just normal ageing?

When you brain takes its time,

but wisdom

helps you make the most of it.

When judgement is better

and lessons learned.

And when the urgency

of impetuous youth

has turned to composure;

after all, why hurry time

when there's so little left?

It’s true. On tests, younger people show faster processing speeds. But older people make up for this with more experience and better judgement. I lose more words from the tip of my tongue than I once did. But I know more words   . . . not the mention use them more cleverly!

When a word eludes me, I find that the harder I push, the more it recedes. Often, a little distraction — diverting (took a couple of seconds to retrieve that one just now!) my train of thought — is enough to unblock it. But sometimes I just have to put it aside and wait. It may take a day; but then, out of the blue, there it is: disinterred from some deep dark recess of my brain. My subconscious has been beavering away in the background all along.