Hello knee pain, my old trusty friend,
singing your best falsetto as I sprint,
I always knew that you’d be back again,

like memories from misspent adolescence,
a little memento of feigned prowess,
that extra lap, I’ve still not learnt the lesson

that all this brain power came at the price
of flimsy joints and narrow, puny hips
to those that rarely lived past thirty five,

the heavy, sharpened handaxes they gripped,
the constant threat of starvation and violence,
no verbose platitudes upon their lips,

no time to heed the luxury of silence.


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jan 14, 2012 @ 01:38:14

    We have no time to head the luxury of silence but they had time to squat down and watch the setting sun sink into the savannah and appreciate the silence.


  2. Niall O'Sullivan
    Jan 14, 2012 @ 12:12:39

    You know, I kind of meant it the other way. Silence probably took on a more sinister dimension in the days when lots of things wanted to eat you.


  3. peter litton
    Jan 15, 2012 @ 14:05:03

    Once you let them go you never know how people will interpret them and I’m not sure that it matters. If people read and think about your writing…that’s job done.


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