| Medicine Cabinet My neighbor snapped, "No! I don't use steroids!" But his fit, plus the fact his muscles bulged From more than lifting weights said yes. I ployed My way into his bathroom and indulged A snoop of his medicine cabinet. Dozens of bottles, but none in front Were filled with steroids. I reached back Behind them and found one, but my hunt Turned to terror as my hand, shaking, Knocked the other bottles into the sink. The shattering glass brought him running And I was more than certain he wouldn't think Twice about beating me bloody For snooping and finding his stash. He kicked the door in to get at me, But out the bathroom window I shot, fast. As I raced home, he didn't give chase. I snoop medicine cabinets no more, At least not in a steroid taker's place; The just have no sense of humor. |
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| Tremor Tales page 33 |
| Life's Troublesome Bumps Alone in the wilderness I walk Unfettered by cares that held me dowm. My trembling gait matters not To the wildlife all around. I breathe in nature's fragrances So relaxing, so heavenly. Grateful am I to have this chance To commune with all around me. Crippled creatures frolic, unmindful Of their injuries as they play. And I chastise myself for how I let my tremors try me everyday. From them, I learn I can triumph Over life's troublesome bumps. And I reenter society carefree, blessed By my walk in the wilderness. |
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| Not I, But You You pulled me over for swerving, Then had me walk a straight line Your flashlight in my eyes, blinding. This threw off my balance and, "Fine," You said. "Unsteadiness, shaking, must be You've taken mind altering drugs. What'd'ya know, in your purse I see You have Klonopin all nice and snug In its half full bottle. Driving drugged, Shame. Off to jail." Gawkers cheered As you drove me, humiliated, Off to jail, self-esteem seared. There, my driving was tested. I passed And you, apologizing with class, Drove me to my doctor on your dime. By him a signed card I was given That explains why I shake all the time. By the way, your surveillance camera proved It was not I, but you who swerved. |
| To Play My Fife Whoowee! More oxygen, please. Great salon you have here To provide one such as me With a hose of air pure and clear To steady my hands, and head too. Oh my, I'm flying! The oxygen Has me higher than a kite. Toodle-loo, I'm off to join a marching band To at last play my fife with elan. Day after day I hit the salon To steady my hands and head again With more doses of pure oxygen. But the time came, to my chagrin, That the oxygen so filled my head It gave my sight a dizzying spin And back to middling my fifing fled, Caused by shaking that was mine again. I gave up breathing pure oxygen And though my fifing middling to fair, I'm content to play with impure air. |
| Flipping Eyeglasses At the dollar store's rear Eyeglasses were flipping into the air From the eyeglass display rack, Each one landing with a crack. And there came a man's intermittent grumps Of frustration from where I could not see, Till he came from behind, triumph On his face and wearing glasses proudly. "From the eyeglass rack," he said, passing by. "Glasses I dislodged, none put back neatly So I set most on a counter nearby. But rather than leave with sight still hazy, From the pile I scrabbled up this pair That you see I now wear." He then walked Out the exit and said into the air, "Twas determination that let me not balk As I dislodged glasses onto the floor, Knocked there by my tremoring hands. And I now see clearly where I had not before, Essential tremor thwarted by this man." |
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