Walking Wounded

My head’s okay although I took a fall,
misstepping off a curb the other day.
A little trip, and now the wounds appall
(my head’s okay).

My palms and knees and face wear an array
of bruises; both my shoulders ache; I haul
my form around surrounded by dismay.

But I insist on walking after sprawl.
I will not let my age my stride betray.
I’m feeling old and sore but, after all,
my head’s okay.


This entry was posted in Aging, Health, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s