Eight years on

I wanted to write

To tell you how I’m doing

But my brain says one thing and my body

Does another

Parkinson’s, you’re so fickle

One minute you’ve got me in s l o w – m o

The next Ihopeyouwantedthisshakennotstirred

Depressed? Anxious? Got you covered.

Can’t sleep? We’ve pills for that too.

Drugs don’t work?

Parkinson’s, you’ve got a nerve and I’ve got no verve

Your gold standard is as old as your stereotype.

There’s surely not much dopamine left to deplete

In this brain of mine.

Keep moving. Oh, the irony.

You’re surely too young?!

Yep, even eight years on.