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  • @60



    The first complaint is from the arch to the big toe, a dull 

    mumble that awakens calf muscles not yet ready to rise. 

    The lower back is next; a right jab, then a left, but bladder 

    is insistent, “Move, move, move!” Together they roll sideways, 

    wobble upright (knee clicking) and stumble, stagger across 

    the floor. Piss flows; lungs croak a reminder that a spray 

    will ease asthma later. For the moment the tourettes tic

    tiredness monitor rests. And the eyes can’t read any of this.


    Yet, at this age it’s not too bad. Developed more for comfort 

    than 5k splits, we can stride across the miles, or labour

    in solid bursts of energy. We can laugh, gameplay, throw out ideas

    that look to the future, compete with quick quizzers, wrestle

    a wordle, and wonder at the complexity of life. And still, her body

    snuggles into mine, curves shaped perfectly for one another. 




    ©  Craig Muir 2022

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