The puppy slept ‘til five this morn,
Not three
The coffee spills, but soaks the magazine
And not my book
My supervisor is too overwhelmed
To comment on my work
My riposte goes astray, but lands upon your bib
Negating your remise
The scar upon my tummy catches when I lift
Not when I lunge
My hamstring aches, but only after practice
Driving home
Each day another piece of me is weak, or torn or stressed
From half a century of use
And yet…they work
No comments:
Post a Comment