Dyspraxia

I looked it up on Google, Read the turgid prose, Did the questionnaire Was very quickly diagnosed. So many things now Suddenly fell into place After a lifetime's experience Of constantly losing face. No longer the clumsy oaf, No longer the thickie spastic, No longer the bumbling fool, I'm just mildly dyspraxic. After more than fifty years Since that last games day, Always the last to be picked For any team I played. That evil Drill Pig who reduced Me to tears on the square Just because I made a mess Of the squad practicing there. My reflexes then being Far far too slow: I was still coming to a stop As he was shouting go. The panic on the mid shift A huge report to type And my teleprinter skills Just turning out tripe. People screaming at me With a job to complete And the looming deadline I never managed to beat. I've struggled all through life Trouble with physical skill Just getting through By sheer force of will. All these years of not Being able to understand That lack of coordination Between my brain and hand. So, I'm not just a useless bugger, Clumsy and thick as a brick, I've got a brain wiring problem I'm just a mild Dyspraxic. It doesn't solve the problem But at least I now know why I tend to make a mess of Most physical things I try. So, if I'm walking past you And somehow catch your feet, Or, if I stumble and abruptly Crash into your seat And grin as I apologise Please don't think I don't care It's just the defence I use To cover up my despair. There’s a strength in knowledge: I no longer feel quite so alone, The sting gone from most cracks About being accident prone. So here I am, And I am me, And just that bit of knowledge Has finally set me free