Monday, 1 June 2015

If we had mice, they’d never stop smiling…


After dropping my tiny migraine meds for the umpteenth time this week

In my palm I have some pills:
But not the kind that give you thrills;
These ones should stop my hands from quaking,
But I cannot pop them without shaking.

I may catch one, I may catch two;
But some will fly to join the few
Rolled under chair and under table.
Because my grasp is so unstable

I cannot take the answers to my ills
Without the probability of spills.
The irony is not beyond me:
Although my failure does despond me.

But until they make my tablets like Maltesers
I shall have to learn to medicate with giant tweezers.

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