Sciatica

Every step is an agony
Every coming one a promise
Of sinew stretching despite no elasticity left,
Every hobbled movement a medley of this malady
That makes walking such a tragedy to behold.

The scolding on the methods that caused this but emboldens every aching anachronism that these arches argue against,
Alabaster espionage of a synaptic sensation,
Sciatica from one sore muscles’ inflammation.

So raise a toast of ibuprofen and tart cherry, magnesium,
Raise legs in stretches despite the abhorrent seizing from such action,
Burn sacrifices to appease whatever god has been displease’d,
Thankful in the pain of this I am still breathing.

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One response to “Sciatica

  1. Ow! I hope you feel better soon, Mick. Meantime, thanks for crafting a poem out of your pain.

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