I’m out of step – I walk today in pain.
My neck’s a starboard ache, but nothing much
compared to what I carry to the train:
a load of rage and rue too deep to touch.
For I can rub my neck or rest my knee,
and I can ice a sprain or wrap a sore,
but I cannot massage this injury
and I can’t cast protection against more.

The candle flickers till I trim its wick.
The lantern sputters till I give it fuel.
Affection falters, and the heart once quick
is slogging in an atmosphere of cruel
confusion and exasperation’s trap,
spelunking in this murk without a map.