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Attention Deficit Disorder
I once had a friend like Midas.
All he touched would turn to gold;
but after he would touch it
the thing would soon get old.
He’d focus for a while.
He’d train and run and race.
His talent was uncanny.
He’d leave without a trace.
We’d wonder where he’d went to.
We’d find him playing chess,
reading books on different movements.
He caused us lots of stress.
And once he had it mastered
we’d find him on the bike,
cycling up mountains,
winning races and then—psych!
He’d trade his bike for weapons.
He’d shoot and hunt and kill.
But once he had some wall-mounts
next to the windowsill
he’d be right on to the next thing,
a piano or a plane.
I swear to you the kid was
really quite insane.
And then he started writing.
He devoured tomes of books.
He’d write until the morning.
It would affect his looks.
He sent some to a journal.
They really liked his wit.
But once they were accepted
he was done with it.
Stamina’s required
if you want to be great.
And wasted talent’s something
I positively hate.
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Reid McGrath lives and writes in the Hudson Valley Region of New York.