Rudder

My locomotion’s wonky and my Parkinson’s obsessed
I can’t control my right leg when I want to get undressed,
I struggle when it’s morning for my legs are on the fritz
And pins and needles jeer when I fall down and do the splits.
My back is sore, my knees are tight, my belly’s farther out,
My posture’s crook, my shoulder’s hurt, I’m getting rather stout.
Do I complain that yet again I fell and tore my arm
I’m getting rather good at that…but comes an end to harm.

Her friends all call her Rudder ‘cause she steers a steady course,
laying hands upon a patient who’s been shouting till he’s hoarse
that his spinal pain is killing him and he’s longing for release,
that he soon obtains and smiles again, for Ariel’s brought relief.
This whiz kid in the suburbs, this pummeller of flesh
an honours level scholar whose research is sharp and fresh,
could lecture at a college, see people on the side,
but would rather be the catalyst in making pain subside.
Kyphosis I can laugh about, my scoliosis too,
I have a meet with Ariel, what more can that girl do?

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