I was wounded in a race with Michael.
\nA smash-up on the sidewalk with my bike.
\nMichael is four years old just barely.
\nHe rode without training wheels
\njust barely three.
\nA remarkable cyclist.
\nHe could outrace me any day
\njust barely seventy one,
\nbut I thought he was no match
\nfor my big bike,
\nas he flew past my wheels.<\/p>\n
How autumn blinded me with light.
\nHow my legs could not excel his own.
\nHow the balance of our hearts
\nshifted in different ways,
\nwhen I called out to Michael,
\nin envy, take care, take care,
\nhalf a block beyond.
\nThen I skidded, putting concrete
\nto the bone,
\nand sat on earth taking note.<\/p>\n
I was in one piece just barely,
\nas Michael circled back
\nasking if I was ok.
\nI said yes,
\nunaware in the numbness of the crash
\nmy knee, which stoically
\nhad borne me all my life,
\nwas barely holding me together
\nexcept with its fortitude
\nto keep me on my feet.<\/p>\n
There is much that could be said
\nof a story so prosaic
\nand repeated time after time,
\nto a doctor who listens
\nto the plight of our skeletons,
\nand their unsung valor.
\nWhose task is to ease the burden
\nof an old knee\u2019s joint,
\nbearing up a man
\nwho for all his years
\nshould be more wise,
\nand not chase angels in a race.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was wounded in a race with Michael. A smash-up on the sidewalk with my bike. Michael is four years old just barely. He rode…<\/p>\n