that don’t prop me
properly. Because these two pegs,
that pose as legs are only twigs
for ****, tight pants, or for spreading
themselves out as the buffet for
hungry men, which are worthless
when they lost the yen. I might as well
cut them off –
they never take me to where I want. If they
decide to move, they go slow. When I was
young, they felt like springs. I could do
amazing things, bouncing from one
activity to another, which would
infuriate my mother. At times I thought
they were rocket ships. They’d launch me into
incredible trips. I’d run for miles on the heels
of them, dance and skip. Now they sadly sit
below my hip, with nothing much to do
but cross over the other, hanging like a long
loose **** that cannot perform the same old tricks.