(Poem 128 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
One, two, three…maybe four
prescriptions need to be filled
because I grow old and less
able to take pride in health
and vigor like I used to, as though
I somehow earned the youthful
ease with which my joints bent,
and my muscles contracted
instantly, and every sinew
responded to my whim with
instant graceful movement;
those people who complained
of aches and stiffness were
somehow at fault for their
functional inadequacies and
I did not recognize my future
reflection in their eyes because
that woman’s lined face was
contorted with pain.
@Greg’s house – 128th poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 