I stand my ground

I stand my ground

Without a gun

To brandish

Or an amendment to my name.

I am better than that.

In my head, I can spin

On a sixpence

Like a number ten

Or Tiger before

He succumbed to hubris

And crashed his life into a tree.

In the real world

Which is a mean place to be

Sometimes

When fine motor skills

Are better in memory

Than in fact

And complex tasks

Become a series of battleground

States

Juggling several things

In one hand

Whilst negotiating a partially open

French door

Is as stupid as it sounds.

I stumble over the step

And drop a cup,

Perhaps I should have

Left the whisky

Out of the coffee,

Onto the rim of a fishbowl

Which breaks,

Spectacularly,

Fishtailing around

All over the floor.

I move with the balletic grace

Of Simone,

Before she fell off the beam

Navigating the damage

On tiptoe

Making the odd save

As light dimmed

In the eyes of too many

Mouth breathers

Unable to pay

The price of unexpected freedom.

Gasping desperately

At the true meaning of flounder

When the right to choose

Is removed

By an ungodly hand

With a touch of arthritis.

When the weather is colder

Than it should be

For the time of year

And the grace of

A gymnast

Is all in the mind.