He talks to my brain through my body.

As I enter the clinic, he shakes my hand

and writes down a score for my grip, then he asks

“do you smell something different today?” and I answer "no"

“Very well,” he says and scribbles an F for olfaction.

Then he asks me the time and the day and the month and the year

and writes down a number for executive function and orientation for time and for day.

He tells me he went to the store and bought a suit, a shirt, some socks, and shoes,

then asks me to tell him all the books that  I read since I saw him the  last time I came

I answer his question, and he smiles and says my executive function is fine

but I’m hypophonic so he’s sending me back to speech therapy

to practice screaming, shouting, screeching, and more.

“Now look straight ahead, and follow my fingers,” he says

as he watches my eyes go side to side, up and down,  all around.

He smiles and says my cranial nerves are intact and my orbital muscles quite strong.

Then he says, “Tap your fingers like this and your toes like that,”

and measures my bradykinesia and more.

Then he pulls out a hammer and taps on my joints and says my reflexes work.

“Now get out of the chair,” he says to me as he watches me waffle and writhe and then rise,

while he writes down a number and tells me I need to go back to PT.

“Now walk up and down this hallway,” he says which I do like a pro

while swinging my arms as hard as I can so maybe he'll think I'm all better.

He smiles and says, “Very good, you learned to copy that well,”

then he pulls me back, as I stand by the wall and, almost lose balance and almost fall,

while he writes down a score for my postural tone and my balance.

Then he asks, “When you entered the room what did I tell you I bought at the store?’

I try to remember and tell him a suit and a shirt and some socks and some shoes.”

“Very good, your memory center works well, you’re stable and able,

no need to change meds,

I'll see you again

in the fall.’’