DAVID BARNES
Parkinson's Workshop

Dedicated to: Dennis Greene

Short stanzas
potent in meaning, need no biography,
no explanation.
 
His fingers
tremble, slowly moving through pages,
yet with certainty the pen moves through
his imposed restrictions, shifting language in precision,
words come; go by the way, discarded,
painting the color of expressions.
 
Seasons flow through him
pass, return; stimulating mind, implants;
hands retrieve the balancing case, colored pills
ingested, convey a semblance of respite from unwanted burdens.
 
I have learned much about Parkinson's disease
written by hesitant, poetic hands.
 
When I thought
I was empty; he fills the well, with his moral fiber,
And he carries unwanted burdens with no stopover.
 
Who am I to complain?
 
I listen
to his criticisms, as he lacerates my words, moving
black pigment on crisp white pages:
 
We didn't ask for this.
He with his disease, I with my infirmity;
though we know the broken road, word-for-word.
And he would be first to say
short stanzas
potent in meaning, need no biography,
no explanation.
 
Our poems edited.

Coffee he asks? Shuffling - slowly away.