Hey Jude

Here's a poem from my new friend Jude who has muscular dystrophy. We met Jude on our evangelism visits and he has been hanging out with us. Jude's poetry shows the rawness of his feelings and emotions. He will be performing at Common Grounds, June 5th, 8pm during open mic.

Gravity

Up: in the air, in the chair, in my lap, in the clasp of my hand.
Down: to the ground, beyond my reach, between these feet, beneath this seat.

So quickly, things fall below me—
It’s not supernatural…It’s just GRAVITY.

Gravity—When all I want is to stay awake, it weighs on my eyelids like some unwelcome blindfold; like I needed to be told, “Bedtime…lights out I say!”

Gravity—What gives you the right? You wouldn’t let the fighter rise to his feet, they had to call it in the 8th. You still try to get the best of people, you try to keep them down, even though they’ve tried to turn their lives’ around. That ain’t right!

Gravity—You’re the reason toothpaste dribbles down my chin after I’ve already changed and am ready to go. Now I can’t, now I gotta face the daunting task of putting on a fresh change of pants. I can’t go out with white spots on my crotch. You never know what people might think. Thanks a lot, gravity, now I’ll never make my escape.

Gravity—You keep me bending, you keep me reaching, you keep me doubled over. I’ve done many a face dive because of you - right to the floor - while I waited patiently for my turn. I bit the dust, took a spill, suffered rug burn…on my forehead.

Gravity—You asshole, remember the time when I came home with a Tiffany and we were so close to bed, but without my strap on I succumbed to the floor instead. I’ve fixed that now – at least – started wearing my seat-belt all the time.

Gravity—A million times my book fell, my Discman dropped, batteries lost. How many times will you make me rinse off silverware? Could you delay me any more? Spilled drinks, over-turned ashtrays, dinner-go-plop – what the hell? - do you really think I can operate a mop?

Gravity—You sick son-of-a-bitch, always taking up all my time. Whether you’re swallowing my cell phone, making off with my money or causing the arching of my spine, it’s always turning a smile to frown.

Gravity—What purpose do you serve anyway? Without you things would always be up in the air, just how I like it. Gravity, sometimes I wish you’d just stay the fuck away from me.