My eyes no longer work too well…
I cannot read small print;
I don’t know where my glasses are
And always have to squint.
My hands, of course, are even worse,
My fingers ache and swell,
Arthritis, past its sell-by date,
Is putting them through hell.
Now factor in an RSI,
Because I type too much,
Then add a dodgy back and stuff…
I wince with every touch.
And so to get some small relief
To bottles, I retreat,
Not gin, though with the child-proof caps
On pills, I’d drink it neat!
When they proof the pots for kids,
‘Cause when your hands are playing up,
You can’t take off the lids.
Though some pills come all wrapped in foil
That’s fine and dandy, but…
As soon as you begin to rip
The stuff, you end up cut.
So, reaching for the first aid kit
You rummage for a plaster…
And find they are wrapped in a way
That Einstein couldn’t master.
By now the kitchen is awash
With blood and choice expressions,
You need something to treat you
For incipient depression.
And that comes in a blister pack
Whose blister will not break…
And though you’ve had no pills at all,
You’ve had all you can take!
I do not want a child-proof cap,
A blister pack or foil,
Such innovations are a pain
That set my blood to boil.
Just tell me I’m old-fashioned
And produce a screw top pot
That’s easier to open
Than the packaging we’ve got.
It is reactionary,
But honest, when we’re ill,
We do not want a battleground
To get a single pill!
I am not alone… Marilyn Armstrong posted the other day about this, which reminded me of the half-finished poem…and the number of times I have resorted to sawing the lids off child-proof jars 😉