A Trick Knee
       

My humor was not an ill humor.
The cables holding my bones to other
bones were most forgivable.

It's not possible to sink
into yourself like my car keys
into the swamp where I threw them.

The bones you rode in on.
The bones that rode you back home.
The secret is to keep moving

like you mean it. Peer over
your shoulder and a roof collapses
under the weight of its squirrels.

A collective bargain. You cut your
finger and I'll bleed mine.
The diagnosis: perfect health,

if not a hint of the remarkable.
Those cement blocks aren't heavy
after all. I'll save one for your

back. We'll move them downstream
to where there's no circulation.
Nothing left in the world to get down on.

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Copyright © 2013 Mary Biddinger All rights reserved
from O Holy Insurgency
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission