BRITTLE ENOUGH TO SHATTER
I can feel the strain
in my weakened muscles,
the crunchy, broken cartilage
marinated in the blood
and sinew of my throbbing
left shoulder—
I was born to fall apart,
to make bad choices
against the advice
of medical professionals,
bad choices who haunt me now
that I’m middle aged
and weary enough of death
to jump out of my wrinkled flesh
at the smallest muscle spasm,
trying to find an answer
nonfatal enough to ease me
back into a comfortable,
drama-free existence
until the next cramp
springs me into
search engine action,
and Dr Google’s alarmist
warnings about the possible
undiagnosed nerve disorder
snagging my neck,
shoulder and spine
cause my brain to wobble
in its crackerjack skull,
desperate for x-rays
and a full set of scans,
because my body would
like to know which part
is going to break first.
Kevin Ridgeway‘s latest book is Death of the Coppertone Girl (Luchador Press). His work has appeared in Hiram Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, Paterson Literary Review, Gargoyle, Slipstream, Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Heavy Feather Review, San Pedro River Review and Trailer Park Quarterly, among others. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, he lives and writes in Long Beach, CA.
