Quasimodo’s lament (DRAFT)
I tolerate the tremor,
I tolerate the pain,
I tolerate obsessive thoughts
that echo in my brain.
I tolerate insomnia,
I tolerate fatigue.
I tolerate a yoga class
that’s way out of my league.
I tolerate the doctors,
I tolerate their pills
I tolerate their co-pays
and their unexpected bills.
I tolerate how bad I look
when posing in a Speedo
I tolerate my mood swings
and my variable libido.
I tolerate my stumbles
and I tolerate the punk
who sees me stagger down the street
and says “That guy is drunk!”
I tolerate the pity
and the unasked-for advice
and gettting help that I don’t need.
They’re trying to be nice.
I tolerate the web sites
and I post on every forum.
I tolerate it when they say
my little poems bore ‘em.
I tolerate it when my hands
turn suddenly all thumbs.
I tolerate it when my arms
won’t let me play the drums.
I tolerate it when my voice
is too low to be heard.
I tolerate repeating
the whole sentence word for word.
I tolerate the Chinese herbs
and monthly acupuncture.
(I’m willing to try anything
at this critical juncture).
I tolerate Michael J. Fox
with all his trials clinical.
I even was a guinea pig
(I’m not entirely cynical)
I tolerate my parkie pals
when they get too bummed out.
We all get scared, discouraged,
racked with sadness, loss and doubt.
In short, I tolerate a lot
of crap with this disease.
But there’s one thing I can’t stand
So now bear with me please:
My attitude is good, you see
in general I feel great!
So why do I get all hunched up
when I could stand up straight?
PLP
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