Parkinson

Spilt coins on the carpet
Spices caressing the air
James’ shaking disease commands
We ought to dance like we don’t care

Oui, another pinot, merci
Bacchus masks an old shadow
What, we care not what you forgot
Another Substantia nigra shrinks to narrow

Senora sweetly dozes
As the tears slowly marshal
Daughter brushes back an errant hair
Yes, to a funeral mass she was partial

Two years on hospice
A prognosis most errant
Dementia promises times’ ever length
Tell you when? We shouldn’t…we can’t

Returned coins nestle in a purse
Plates back to the scullery
Love your loved one with Parkinson’s
Keep to today, tomorrow stays a mystery

Advertisements

About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on November 18, 2016, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: