Day Two, Thirty Poems for National Poetry Month/Theme: Bones

I CAN DRIVE 55


It's not the bones that ache,
it's the connective tissue,
the part that gives way so the bones can move.
Tired of a lifetime spent
being too flexible, the cartilage
begins its slow protest,
like a gear that slips and slips
again, until the grooves are all worn out.
I push my left hip downward slightly
and it protests, until I exert
enough slow pressure that it finally gives way.
The right side always led me to trouble
and the left stayed behind and took the punishment.
My scars and swollen places
were always on the shy part,
the side that preferred to reflect.
None of it matters, as I picture the tissues
slowly parting, leaving me
free to make missteps all over again,
not caring whether I fall.