Photo by John Richards

Photo by John Richards

The Walking Wounded
Step all round me.
They and I afraid to touch.

Cautioned by the Sun,
“Leave space between your atoms,”
It advised that too dense a mass
And we will implode.

In lieu of “hellos” and “adieus”.
“caios” and “tatas”
We excruciate over
Times move —
a.m. to p.m.
And back again.

Fretting over issues
Of when moments became and went,
How they got so quickly sore
Then even worse, Infirmed .

We look longingly for a place to rest
A chair on which to sit.

No lounging here,
Perpetual motion, the rule,
Never wind down
For if it did, we’d have to
Call it quits,
Call it a day.

Mornings, noons, and nights
Taken away,
Replaced the Sun
With Dark
Losing motion, knowing only pain.