sight seems to elude me at moments
that require perspective,
i don’t know what to say; i’m at a bit of a loss,
you’ve caught me off guard,
and i’d prefer if you’d come back later,
maybe when i, or you, have called first,
so we’re both ready for a sojourn
into each other’s company,
i smell lemon grass,
is that a new perfume?
there’s a happy accident happening every four seconds,
or so,
which also means there’s some horrible, atrocious thing
happening, as well,
because nature loves symmetry,
unless you’re looking at a crooked rock sitting at the edge
of a field,
about to fall off, because in that case,
symmetry is dead
i stretch in private because
i’m not that limber
i stretch in private because
when i lift my arms above my head,
i’m embarrassed that my love handles are showing
i stretch in private
so that no one can see how stiff my body is,
how it creaks at the joints
without any rhythm
how my body doesn’t quite look like
a temple,
so much as it looks like a fixer upper
that no one wants to purchase
because it’s been on the market too long,
and has too many leaks,
too many corners cut during construction
but maybe stretching each day could fix something about my body,
if only i could remember
Fred Aiken Writing 