Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Maybe Two

the feet burn;
cold, like blocks of ice,
dead and distant,
bloated and swollen;
movement comes hard;
the phone rings,
the VA,
telling you they got
the latest lab results,
want you to up
the dosage,
you hit ignore,
roll back over;
enough is enough;
you think about truth,
you think about lies,
you think about appearances,
you think about deception;
we all get exactly what
we deserve;
Petey lays at your feet,
quietly concerned,
understanding more
than most,
seeing things
others cannot,
it is instinctual;
it is on another level;
somehow you fight through
the stupor,
rising once more,
putting one foot in front
of the other,
until eventually
you feel the floor
again;
“c’mon Petey” you say,
who jumps quickly up,
tail wagging;
“let’s go check the mail;”
not ready to give up
just yet;
still got one more round;
maybe two.
.
.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Your feedback is greatly appreciated

Followers

Blog Archive