Who Am I Today?

If you have not yet reached the need for the  morning ritual described in this poem, know that you have it to look forward to.


Is it the aging husband with enlarged prostate?

The asbestos handler with pleural plaque?

The retired runner with calcified  cartilage

and  the mysterious cyst, discovered late?

Let’s leave the bed and check  our state.


Swing the legs out, assume the vertical

Slow, slowly, rise and test your condition.

Is vision clear, no blur?  No moving dots?

Always check sight before being physical.

You need to see where you might fall.


Now rise, the resurrection, assume control.

Blood creeps to muscles, preventing cramp.

Any new aches that the shower wont soothe?

Can you feel the floor beneath each sole?

Start moving now — you’re on a roll.


Knees  feel weak, you assumed too much,

the left knee creaks and the right knee locks.

Crookedly weaving from bed to shower

Seeking the heat of the water’s crutch

that unlocks knots, an essential touch.


Upright now. You assume you are ready

to briskly towel without loss of balance.

More confident now and moving easy

one foot in your underpants, are you steady?

No, you’re on one leg, and wobbling madly.


You feel the knee fail, 

                                    you’re the ancient runner!



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