old bones
when you touch me
It feels like whiskey
on my tongue
at the back of my throat
burning in my gullet
I feel
as if I'm seven again
before all the bad stuff
happens
and my gear box
grinds itself
into a mess
of loose screws
but don't be mistaken
you're a good thing
like Professor Longhair
pounding out a ragged
rumba
bloody, lived-in elegance
but
it's late
too late
I feel rheumatic
locked in a vice grip
I can hardly
move
let alone thrust
I blame the bastards
lurking in my genes
fooling around
in the graveyard
digging up bones
just to smash them
© Jim Benz [Note: previously published in Spry Magazine]
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for me it was flat tires i was at the gas pumps too often just to air a flat they yelled me away when they saw me coming :-)
ReplyDeleteThis thing grips you in its own here-and-now. A compelling piece of honest existence. The ancient bone dance: grinding, pounding, rattling...like a Saint Saens skeleton absurdly performing.
ReplyDeleteI liked the honesty of this too.. It is very immediate.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this
ReplyDelete