My classes, Dance with Parkinson’s
have proved more balanced than I thought,
though, fraught, I first appliqué sought,
but with bent knees, a plié taught.
In flexing joints I joined the corps -
as you surmise, like one, next day -
on Zoom, screened from field summer play,
as others basked, sunscreen as faced.
I’m at the bar - as others are -
me drinking in new moves afoot,
and arabesque, beer belly hang.
I asked it of the PD Nurse -
how no one treating of the curse
had ever measured prancing worth?
She charged she’d never witnessed it,
said culture was the better source
of finance for such upper crust.
My next enquiry was to be
about prescribing poetry,
but then I realised that verse
was filed, like ballet, not my class.