Sputterpub's Blog

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.

Six weeks ago I wrenched my lower back.
I’m happy to announce, as of today
I feel recovered from that deep attack,
and though some time was spent in pain, dismay
and grouchiness, at least at last I healed.
My future may hold flexibility.
I’m hardly spry, but grateful not to yield
so far, to elder immobility.

My brother says it only will get worse.
Except for blips, I fear his words are true.
My sleep is never sound, my gut’s upset
too often, and I bruise as if a curse
were on my hands. I look at me and you
and marvel – sure we’re old, but not dead yet.