Creak
Cracks
Broken
Backs
Strung on a rack
Creaking wheel
pulls spine taut
Entreats,
“Sweet mercy!”
Greets pain
Back
broken
cracks
creak.
Mercy!
arm twisting brother menacing.
Mercy!
sexually charged boyfriend pressuring.
Mercy!
power hungry supervisor pushing.
Mercy!
posturing presidents endangering.
Mercy!
infuriated people demanding.
You groan in your bed
shifting to find a comfortable spot.
You struggle to rise on those
sore back legs.
You fall over avoiding
chair legs.
You ignore your dinner
as if eating is too much effort.
You don’t hear people when
they come to the door.
You go out to toilet,
but poop as you come in.
You strain to see me
through clouded eyes.
But you wag your tail
when you recognise me
and bring me a toy to tug.
You follow me whenever I move,
just wanting to be with me.
You make me stare down
hard decisions.
dear old dog.
.
.
.
2015 is not my favourite year.
Dusty Dog’s 17th birthday is in August, but I don’t think he’s going to see it.
When she reached
and found
That was all
there was.
When she stretched
and discovered
That was all
she was
When she trusted
and loved
That was all
you were
There
in the span
across the back
your agony rests.
There
in the flesh
of your arms
your pain sits.
There
in the curve
of your neck
your anger abides.
There
in the well
of your heart
your recovery dreams.
Number one
occupational
health hazard for
flight attendants
is falling
during turbulance,
for hair stylists:
hair slivers,
for teachers
it’s vocal damage.
Today,
my throat concurs
and longs for Ricola
and honeyed tea.
Today,
teaching hurts.