[Editor’s Note: This is the fourth in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
I Know I’ve Seen That Face Before
I know I’ve seen that face before
That one, the one that’s at the door.
He looks at me and I look at him.
I say “Do I know you?” on a whim.
He looks at me with disbelief
“I’m Dr. M, who fixes your feet.”
I can only place him with the foot files
Not at Target, roaming the aisles.
I didn’t expect to see him there
But in his office handling patient care
Working on the corns and the calluses, too,
Making my foot happy within my shoe.
What is this problem that I’m having
With names and faces I’m not remembering?
I stutter and stammer, “I’m so sorry now.”
“Dr. M, I forgot who you are somehow.”
Ms. Hoult, who lives in Carlson Park with her husband Charlie, may be contacted at HOULTight@aol.com
