When I was 12 years old my legs got weird.
They itched whenever I stood still at length.
A mottled rash on knees and calves appeared,
and though they never lacked accustomed strength,
I fretted and discussed it with my mom,
who said “Your circulation’s bad, like mine.”
Already hating them for size, that bomb
exploded any dreams that they’d look fine.

Within a year the issue seemed to go.
Except when as a freshman I took speed,
the rash did not recur. Why? I don’t know,
but I forgot near 60 years, indeed,
until last week, when illness stilled my thighs –
I’ve learned another good from exercise.