Tuesday, May 7, 2024

Bad Poetry: Getting Old

 

To wake up

Is to stretch the shoulders

Pull on the neck

Pop the back

Crack the knees

Bend the joints

and listen

To the cacophony of sounds

That my aching body makes.

Is this the price

I pay 

For farming?

For lifting weights?

For kayaking on a Sunday?

Why can't I drink

and stay up all night

Till the stars come out

and light

My walks in the darkness?

This machine that I have built

Hath begun to rattle and protest

There ain't no replacements

So I do

As we have always done

And endure

The pain.

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