TROUBLE ON THE STAIRS

TROUBLE ON THE STAIRS

There’s trouble on the stairs for me, everywhere I go.
Trouble on the fire escape, trouble and a world of woe.
Near a set of stairs is never good for me to be,
A staircase is an endless source of much calamity.

There’s trouble on the stairs for me, be it day or be it night,
The stairs I can’t negotiate, try as I might like.
I tend to teeter on the edge, like some fool upon a ledge,
I tend to have a strange revulsion, I have a thing called retropulsion.
I tend to fall backwards as I make my way, stealthily towards the top,
And then before I make it there, I take that perilous drop.

Before I make it up halfway, before I make it over the hump,
I find myself in a twisted heap, flat upon my rump.
It’s well beyond my understanding, how I seldom make it past the landing.
And all because they tell me my balance is impaired.
I am a Parkinsonian, I’ve trouble on the stairs.

And yet what am I to do, the stairs are everywhere.
It’s good that there are railings or I’d be in great despair.
I’ve learned to grab at one of these and pull upwards with all my might.
I hope the railings are secure, for it would be a dreadful plight,
To fall backward to my death from such a dizzy height.

Perhaps it’s all my lover’s fault, and he’s the one to blame.
What kind of fool buys a house with stairs, it’s such a fruitless game.
But I better keep my mouth shut or he’ll confine me to the second floor,
Or put me out upon the street to kvetch and vent no more.

Near a set of imposing steps is never good for me to be,
A staircase is a challenge, a near impossibility.
Yet upward I go, fearlessly, and likewise go my back hairs.
A fearless Parkinsonian, with trouble on the stairs.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED