This stiffness: a gift
I would rather return.,
These tremors,
Bad habits, I wish to unlearn.

My wife will command me:
‘Mike, move upright’,
Without her this evening,
I tilt to the night.

I don’t have her near,
My kind carer and friend,
Her absence is noticed,
Because I now bend.

Should I refrain
From Parkinson’s re-right,
Or can she forgive me
For bending tonight?

Mike Bell Poetry

Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.

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