Parkinson’s Marching Band

Parkinson’s Marching Band struts into town.
Their annoying presence makes me feel down.
They expect to march in my Symptom Parade,
Where odd manifestations of PD are made.

The Symptom Parade changed my appearance.
In spite of my careful medicinal adherence.
This fest gives no prizes, no confetti or win.
Yet the price for the entry is steep and locked in.

Look, there is Tremor leading the band.
He directs marches with one shaking hand.
Next come the flag girls, strutting their stuff.
But their lousy coordination is just not enough.

The first row of trombones really can’t march.
And 5 trumpet players move stiffly as starch.
Their breath is so soft, their horns can’t be blown.
Instead they must pay Taps on their phone.

Now come the drummers with symptoms of fear.
Fatigue and plain tiredness bring up the rear.
Last in line are kazoos used for humming.
Their feet frozen solid with no steps forthcoming.

The Parkinsons band is annoying as Hell.
When it arrives at my street, I always can tell
The Parkinsons sponsor tries hard to recruit me.
He offers a tuba or says he could flute me.

I make an agreement for joining the band.
No symptoms permitted to get out of hand.
And new rules for playing an instrument badly.
Do the best you can do. Do not perform sadly.

Those with no rhythm may not whine or pout.
Members are upbeat or promptly kicked out
Parkinsons issues will be attended to STAT.
Or possibly resolved with a new yoga mat.

If you develop a symptom like bad fallen arches.
Become the drum major of Parkinsons marches.
Hold your baton however you choose.
And march at your own speed with John Phillip Sous.