At night, strapped and padded like an American baseball player in early retirement,bone and breath out of sync, in the mode of a cripple, I limp my way up the lonely street with a list to starboard(right).My feet have jigged an involuntary condition of St Vitus Dance,first instituted by a partly mad monk in the late 17th century, Eventually,having performed every dance from the cha cha to the hoki koki I reach the small village that harbours mostly small night cafes for curry-munchers.My head holds a never-ending buzzing as though a cluster of hornets have taken up permament residency,my wife ever in the fear of early widowhood directs me daily to the all-night emergency clinic,which throngs with all manner of cripples in various stages of decay. A part-time Minister of God’s gospel on Sunday-who holds down a Justice of the Peace employ Monday to Friday-prays a miracle for the multiple pathologies that manifests an archaic fast forward body structure that better serves a knacker’s yard! Yet, there lurks still,though rare in appearance,.the bard in me that versifies in conjured up places I have never ventured to, supported by pure lies and other disguises. The strange thing is I have come to enjoy the nightly dance up the lonely street that leads to nowhere,sure I take a chance with the shaky bone-structure and a huge gap inside my left knee,but think, its all this that sets free the bard in me and sets it down for your entertainment….impairment can lead to genuis, hold on to your banalities of broken down bowels, disease skin and bone, incontinent bladders and empty molar sockets, give thought to Don Quixote, Ruper Davies the tramp poet, and tune in to a poet by the name of Eggleton reading his poems in Poetry Archive and you will realise on listening to this weirdo that regardless of age,infirmity, whatever, there is HOPE! Yes, hope for you though you wear your skin like a second-hand suit and your drainage system is in tatters,I urge you,tune into Eggleton and dance your way to stardom..perhaps.