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.
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page updated Thursday, January 2, 2014