Honest reflections – TB

1 Feb

The light seems to brush
My left shoulder.
It leads all the way down
To my elbow,
Which on this occasion digs
Into my ribs.
Left hand gripping my brown locks.
The awkward pose leads me to ask
if my feet are on backwards.
Bruises paint my left leg.
Hair stands on end on the right.
There are the dangling bits
And the gangly bits,
The toned and the honed parts.
The toned and the honed parts
Must be mocking the floppy.
Whatever lives in that belly?
And why does it rumble like a bear?
My face is what I usually study.
On this occasion I forget it’s there.
I glance up and down
Each time checking if anything’s changed.

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