No Bones About It
My bones are old, so I’ve been told;
It’s osteoporosis.
Accepting that if I go splat
I’m done – that’s the prognosis.
So when it’s cold, I’m not so bold
To walk if streets are icy.
One little slip may crack my hip;
To chance it might be dicey.
And so today, I had to weigh
Conditions ‘fore my journey
Or I’d go whoosh, land on my tush
And end up on a gurney.
My normal route I was astute
Enough to see could trip me
So I took stock and ‘round the block
I walked and I was slip-free.
When I was young, I must have clung
To thoughts of never aging
But now, alas, I watch my ass
And every step I’m gauging.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment