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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
Copyright ©
Terry Ireland
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