Parkinson’s Sonnet, Year 7
Why am I so tired all the time?
I go to bed and get my nightly eight,
But all that sleep does not facilitate
My feeling perky, upbeat, in my prime.
I’m slogging through my days at home and work,
Zoned out at my desk in stupefaction…
Mired in Parkinsonian non-action…
Doing zilch and feeling like a jerk.
And yet, there come some moments shining bright –
Like when I swim an open water race,
And even though I’m nowhere near first place,
It sets my sickly-spinning world aright.
Then after that? I’m dying to get home,
Park at my desk, scratch out another poem.
– Bruce Ballard, September 23, 2017
