ADHD

Stinky Jones was hyperactive -

couldn’t keep him still;

he was a whole lot better

on the days he took his pill.

 

He couldn’t concentrate at school -

it bristled with distractions;

there was no time to think ahead

to stop impulse reactions.

 

He tried so hard to understand

the words his teacher said -

but they were drowned out by the roar

of static in his head.

 

His classmates knuckle down and work

but Stinky plays the fool;

the lesson’s quite opaque to him -

he’s miserable at school.

 

He gets up at the crack of dawn

and goes to bed quite late;

his inner clock is stuck on ‘now’ -

he really cannot wait.

 

Stinky chatters on all day

he’s barely time to eat;

at school he wanders ‘round the class -

he won’t stay in his seat.

 

Reading  is impossible -

the letters will not stay:

they move and turn and twist in such a

dizzy queezy way.

 

Numbers also baffle him:

he cannot work it out-

how to turn those symbols

into actual amounts.

 

Concepts like before and after,

nearly, soon, and yet -

are all such vague abstractions

that he really doesn’t get.

 

It’s all so darn frustrating

and he’s suddenly enraged -

he’s punched a hole into the wall

before his brain engaged.

 

His Mum says that he’s got to make

the best of what he’s got:

utilise his strengths to make

his life a better lot.

 

So Stinky takes his pills on days

he needs to keep a grip

on his mental perturbations,

but on weekends he lets rip.

 

The rest of us perceive the world

in sequence and in bits,

but Stinky sees the whole of things:

an enigmatic wit.

 

He answers questions no one asks -

he thinks a different way;

he has a most extraordinary gift-

he’ll realise it one day.

 

All rights reserved. This poem or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, without the express written permission of the publisher.

The Idea Factory, editor@anwyl.com

page updated Thursday, January 2, 2014