(c) Melinda Smith 2011

Asperger’s diagnosis : a fugue

In Autism Poem on November 9, 2011 at 2:30 pm
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Poetry appearing on this page was produced with the generous support of artsACT

This poem is in the voice of an eight year old boy who  has recently discovered he has a diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome. It is difficult to explain, so I’m going to resist the urge to commentate and just say: read it. Think of it more like a piece of music than like a story with a beginning, middle and end. Comments welcome.

Asperger’s diagnosis: a fugue

The cup finishes. I see. I look and look and hold on to it. It makes sense now. Cup. Hand. It finishes.
In my football draw there will be no elimination matches
I don’t have Asperger’s syndrome.  I was terrified the horses and cows would fall off the hill
Here comes the Schumaker-Levy 9! Here it comes !
We called for hours and hours, why didn’t you answer?
I was being under a pyramid

The cup finishes. It makes sense now. I don’t have Asperger’s syndrome
David says I do but he’s wrong.  In my football draw the only elimination match will be the final
If there were no gravity we would all float up into the air and the oceans would leak away into space
We called for hours and hours, why didn’t you answer?
I dreamed there was a big chicken in my room trying to eat my legs

I don’t have Asperger’s syndrome. I look and look and hold onto it.
You say I do but you’re wrong. In Me-land money, the notes start at seven cruzlaks
Elimination matches are REALLY unfair
Roman baths were a lot like our health clubs
We called for hours and hours, why didn’t you answer?
I was terrified the horses and cows would fall.

Cup. Hand. Cup. Hand. Aspergers’ syndrome is dumb.
I don’t think there should be any more elimination matches, ever. I don’t.
The doctor says I do but he’s a baddie !
The notes start at seven cruzlaks because there is a five cruzlak coin
We called for hours and hours, why didn’t you answer?
The elephant bird was the biggest bird that ever lived

We called for hours and hours, why didn’t you answer?
I knew where you were.

I should mention that parts of this poem are a poetic response to the book Smiling at Shadows (Junee Waites & Helen Swinbourne, HarperCollins 2001), about Junee’s amazing son Dane and their journey so far.

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