Chapin City Blues

By Jan Seale

from The Parkinson Poems

Before Parkinson's
he never knew thresholds could lurk,
cafe tables form herds across his plains,
pews at church gather in unholy rows.
He never considered steps rapacious,
steep inclines or declines poisonous,
holds in the lawn to be stalkers,
extension cords and rugs in disguise.
Now there are venomous tile floors,
the wily smiles of shining lobbies,
man-eating sidewalks, spidery chairs,
the distance between here and there
waiting in ambush.