I sit placidly idling time
curious for the way people stand,
tense, feet set wide, arms barring
chests that swell in defiance.
Sneaking around the stalwart figures
I glance rigid backs, curved necks
arching up, bulging calves and bony elbows,
but then a certain weakness underlies
the left shoulder, a snag here,
a bit crooked and bending down.
Smoothing my rumpled pride I lean
against the palm of my hand,
blood rushing into my thumb's knuckle
and trace the downward dash with my eyes
and (sadly) smile.
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