The joint
(for a fellow poet in hospital get well)
I like to keep fit, but I’m lying in bed,
I’ve broken some bit, of my body instead,
Off out and about, running and racing,
I just want to shout, not slow down my pacing,
So with tablet in hand, not shoved down my throat,
The internet is grand, it keeps me afloat,
My friends all e-mail, their worries and woes,
I walk like a snail, but my mending it slows,
A story teller please, to spin me a yarn,
If I could get on my knees, I’d beg, sure what harm,
Just to pass time, perhaps make me laugh,
Make it all fine, I might escape from this gaff,
If only to find, I’m not in total shock,
So hard this old grind, my bits are a crock,
They will shove in a pin, try hold things together,
It’s a mortal sin; I’ve been here forever,
But I will get out, yes I will recover,
Walk slowly about, hope to discover,
That all will be well, they will fix what is wrong,
This is like living hell; I am here way too long,
The drugs seem ok; the place is far from a tip,
Night blends to day, is it your knee or my hip,
All things considered, I’m not fit I’m in bed,
Just feeling withered, that a piece of me is dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment