The pills don’t help
The dementia
Is real
She forgets
On the way to buy gin
From the bodega

Magazine told her white raisins
Soaked in liquor
Help the dialysis
Attendant find the vein

She forgets
The clerk gives her wrong change
And she loses her way
Walking the alleyway home
She thinks she hears her husband
Calling dear, dear
The grave is heavy enough
For both of us
To rest

Her daughter finds her
Slumped against the dumpster,
Laughing at the rain.
This read very within itself. It's like you put a catalytic convertor on your pen. Or, like, a better metaphor.
i like this. quite a nice read. only small things i have to offer is that i didn't like the capital at the beginning of each of line, and some more punctuation could help in places.

thanks for posting.