Thomas Hoskyns Leonard
Huge, massive head;
Couldn't smell his shit;
Of bullies forever in dread,
The stupid, clumsy nit.
Warped by space;
Frightened by a five foot drop;
Totally lacking grace;
Always needing his hair to crop.
Low muscle tome;
Ever in fear to roam.
Ears blocked the sounds,
Eyes couldn't see the leaping chipmunks,
As round Mendota the skunks did their rounds.
Bees buzzing around his cerebral matter,
As if they his skull would shatter
So brilliant and yet so thick;
Indeed quite the pompous dick;
Wallflower drinking cocktails;
Scared of the Yorkshire Dales;
Never would quite make grandmaster;
Always fearing catatonic disaster.
But sometimes rises to the top,
Before falling with a mighty flop
'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
Tomasz for a lifetime cried,
As his relatives snitched and sighed
'Tidy your office, clean your clothes!'
His phobic bosses would declare,
And answer back he didn't dare,
Since to no other dudes could he sell his wares.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
He to the crass medics cried.
'Just hypochondria', Dr. Fred Febrolitis replied,
'And a touch of paranoia on the side'.
'You're bipolar!' Dr, Rodney Geralitis proscribed,
When Tomasz his reactive high could not abide.
So on mood stabilizers he was sent,
And they for decades made him fraught and bent.
Long retired, in doddering old age,
And after his dumb relatives again did rage,
He with dear Bon Bon to Professor Cornelius Sparrow went
'Re-diagnose me for a thousand smackers!' Tomasz gave vent.
'Do you blurt nonsense during rational conversation
And feel in need of social salvation?' asked Sparrow,
Cutting his patient to the marrow.
'And do you tangentialise,
As you from topic to topic flit
Sounding like an idiosyncratic twit?
Do I hear two Yes's? Great!
In that case you've got Attention Deficit Disorder, mate,
And no more medications on your slate.
Chemical imbalance? That's a figment of poor Fievre's mind,
Without wishing to sound unkind.
Your problem's neurological not just psychological,
And you're particularly hyperbolical.
At least your perceptions are not deceptions
As long as you slowly analyse your wilder preconceptions.'
'I'm sane!' enthused Tomasz,
Hugging Bon Bon round his mane.
'And now the world like an oyster I will reign
And to write a History of Humour I will deign,
As I campaign for the chemicalized insane with due refrain.
Like the Emperor Claudius feel I
As my Gods cast a new die,
And from this day forth I will never live the lie;
And like Catherine of Siena I will fly,
As my relatives my praises forever cry,
While never comprehending the reason why.
And Bon Bon, I'll love you till I die.'
See also MENTAL HEALTH DISCUSSIONS EDINBURGH
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