An Ode to Arthritis

Oh, Arthur, You’re Such A Pain

How can everything hurt
first thing in the morning?
When I should feel vim and vigor
my back dreads holding me up,
my knees seem inflexibly sore.

Shoulder muscles, tight, aching.
The curve in my neck reminds me
of too many younger days
spent curled up in a chair
with good books, terrible posture.

On mornings like this I lift up
my eyes, and think of Heaven,
with a special longing.

.

Another poem from my book, Silver Morning Song

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