Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Poem: August 27, 2019

Inflexible

People who can touch their toes,
or their palms to the floor, frustrate
me no end. I bend about as well
as a concrete block, my hands
barely reaching my knees before
my hamstrings protest and my
legs fold rather than suffer another
millimeter of stretch, and if this
was a metaphor, I would have to
feel ashamed, but it's not and
I don't and you can't make me.


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