Parkinson’s a bitch, my father said

Shaking off the awkwardness of having his son

Hold him in bed to hold off the shaking

Till his drugs could settle in:

Carbidopa to tell his brain to shut his muscles off,

Lorazepam to stuff his fear into a corner of sleep,

Which came, in time, as I lay cradling him,

His frame still much larger than mine

Despite his shrunken weight, despite having to be carried

In and out of chairs, despite the piss accidents,

The humiliations disease brings in its baggage,

Unpacking surprises like toys from a business trip,

So when sleep did set in, his trembling hand in mine,

I felt surprisingly small in his arms.  

Copyright © 2019 by Roger W. Hecht.