In my defense, let me start by saying that I was considerably younger when I wrote this rather juvenile poem. And yes, I am aware that I seem to stick to a particular rhyming pattern when I compose silly poems, but I’m from the Pam Ayres school of silly poetry. (If you don’t know who Pam Ayres is, Google her!) I came up with it on April 29, 1995 after a hard session with my physio. I took the poem to my physiotherapist, and I read it to her as she was forcing me to do the REALLY hard exercises. She took the ode as it was intended, with good humour, and asked for a copy. Thankfully, the only similarity between my physio and the one in this poem is that my physio really did say that my kneecaps resembled safety hats!
My doctor sent me to physio,
Of this I wasn’t quite sure.
You see, I’ve been to physios.
Several times before.
He sent me kicking and screaming,
From his doctor’s room,
With visions of pain and agony,
And of my life in complete gloom . . .
I got home and told my mum,
Tears running down my cheeks,
Of the terrible fate awaiting me –
Physio for weeks and weeks!
Mum took me to the hospital,
To give them the doctor’s letter,
They promise me wholeheartedly,
They’d make my knee work better.
I fussed and fussed for one whole week,
Wond’ring what was in store,
Praying if they caused me pain,
I’d make it out the door!
They looked normal on the outside,
But they’re sadomasochists!
They explain how good it is for you,
When they beat you with their fists.
Several weeks of physio,
Seemed to fly on by,
I had no more pain climbing stairs,
‘Til I saw that look in her eye . . .
She said that it was really great,
That my knee was feeling good,
And just how very sorry she was,
‘Bout having to hit it with a length of wood!
I limped off to my physio,
Returning the next week,
The way they handle planks of wood,
Makes Superman look mild and meek.
With cracks about my kneecaps
Resembling safety hats,
All that I can really say
Is physios are all prats!
But they seem to know what they’re doing,
I’ll give credit where credit’s due,
‘Cause if it wasn’t for my physios,
I’d be in the poo.