Today is the kind of day that is really not ‘suitable conditions’ for persons ‘affected by complaints of an arthritic nature’. In fact today is the kind of day that is best spent curled up in bed with a good book, some chocolate and a large mug of tea. However how often do those cold, wet and windy days coincide with the days it is actually possible to stay in bed? In my experience not often! So topped up with morphine and wrapped up warm it was off to town on Rory the Rascal, my trusty scooter who has restored at least some of my independence. After an extremely frustrating trip to the doctors and the opticians I was finally allowed to speed home and wring out my clothes (which I promptly put in the washing machine thus only succeeding in making my already freezing hands a little colder). After a hot shower to defrost, new glasses on and a few more doses of morphine the world started to look a little different. Nothing unusual there until I realised I hadn’t written anything today, so here is the result of my brain trying to process the change in vision and the drugs.
A Treatment Not a Cure
The floors slope away towards the middle of the room,
While pictures glare boldly from out of the gloom.
Time passes by like wool through a loom,
The silence is alive with a winter morning bloom.
All of these feelings have been there before,
Simply adjustments, a treatment not a cure.
Soon equilibrium, the chemicals restore
A new set of prisms and a few pills more.
It’s true that things are clearer,
Some even seem nearer,
While pain is more distant,
A little less insistent.
So here I will wait,
In this half way state,
Strong lenses, strong drugs,
And a whole lot of hugs.
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