Not so funny

There’s a few important cells
Gone missing from my brain
They’ve not gone on strike
But they’re AWOL just the same
Every now and then
a few more pack their bags
It means a slight malfunction
And some things inclined to drag
I’ve got some little helpers
They are kick-arse agonists
Thay make up for those pesky cells
I have to say I miss
So I overlook the when and ifs
Or ponder on my time
I’m grateful for the brain I’ve got
with its penchant for a rhyme

Am I really me

If a chemical concoction

Is making connections

Where I can’t?

Is a malfunction

Artificially concocting

My creativity?

Is it all a fake

Served up by serotonin

Courtesy Mr Parkinson?

Scenario

He was a cute little kid,

blonde hair and black cap

about four or five

on the mono-rail ride.

He stood by the door

Mother nearby

“Stand away or you’ll fall”

she called

The spring of his knees

and his lean on the door

unrestrained and excited,

he pointed and shouted.

An instinct unused

kept me drawn to the door

but my hands

at my side.

In a blink the door slides

denying support

momentarily balanced

his teetering weight

decides were to fall

a split second choice

we reach out.

Our collision of assistance

our clutching at vacated space

our handfuls of desperation

miss the precious target.

Desperate fingers drop away.

Holding on to

nothing.

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