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.