Disability

On the last day of June
as I was expecting a regular scrum
My boss said “You’re let go”
and swiftly I moved to a small rum.

I applied to new places then
filled up my long tale,
one field asked of ‘Disability?’
whether any of my organs fail.

I talk a lot; I do keep mum
I’m an open book and a mystery,
I blame myself for everything
that’s now part of my history.

I say random things at random times
I can’t gauge the mood of the room,
One semi-arrogant look at me,
and my whole might is in gloom.

Alas, that field was a drop-down
How I wish it were a text box,
then I’d write these stanzas there
some thing just can’t be answered
in Yes or No, I think.