What's right

I wake up and smell the coffee
Ready, the newspaper, reading glasses
I reach out, my right hand trembles
My left hand supports

It is difficult, I touch the glasses
Difficult to grip, to hold
I get it close to my face, and I maneuver
My face fits it perfectly

Now the cup of coffee
The plate rattles, coffee spills onto my shirt
A sip, two sips, and more
The right one does it well

The morning over, the lunch, a stroll
Cricket, tennis, the evening news on television
The world, changes each day
If only the remote would stay still

Month end, I am the man, I pay
A pen, the chequebook, I dread
Each month, a worse tremble, a worse signature
Yet, the scribble pleases me in a childlike way

My wife, my children with theirs
An outing, a picnic, a wedding
That little voice within, “I hope I can be steady”
But they love, she loves, I live

Doctors help, fail, no real cure
Nerves berserk, no control
But, I’m a whiz, I quiz, I reason, I debate
So what if the right one’s gone a little wrong

Dedicated to my grandma (dadi) who passed away and my grandpa (nana) who’s the ‘mental mathematics’ whiz. Parkinson’s really squeezes out a lot of confidence from within. There is no complete cure, and the small things we do each day becomes a feat for them. Tying the naada of a pajama, shoelaces, brushing teeth, combing hair.....


But I love them, the way she was and the way he is.