Birthday Card

Haven’t written for(n))ever
been a coward.
no excuse.

Here’s an excuse.
Same as before.
Pain. Pain. Pain.
Pain. Pain. Pain!

Told you before. Told you again.
Same old, same old.
Same old;

Number the times I’ve told you?
Number the times I’ve bored you.
Left claw,
(Was right-hand before it felled me),
now gnarled;
its fore-finger pointing
an other way,
Like the amblyopian infant I was,
for Mom.

misshapen appendage.
Freak of nature.
Who loves you, baby?
Not I!
Only I?

—–     —–     —–

My doctor, Dr. Hoh, (she says “Say my name quickly three times in succession and call me Christmas morning”) says my pain will get better as time goes by.  I’m 71 years old today.   Do the math!!


6 thoughts on “Birthday Card

  1. I hope you ‘complain’ more often. Why shouldn’t you express your experience as freely as anyone else? Human beings confirm one another all day long – in fact, it appears to me that that is essentially what we DO. So I hope you write whatever the hell you want – it might be about pain and then again it might not.
    As for us, we can’t lose. Either way, we’ll get some good writing.

    Peace out, brave brother

    1. Lest I give you the impression of great physical pain… … …. I have MANY wonderful days. And a few miserable ones, when I take Vicodin and Neurotin. My writing helps me minimize my need for the meds. I wish I could write from joy, the way I used to. These days, my writing feels like the work of badly wounded bear; still potentially powerful, hiding in his den, hoping to survive the Winter.

      [“Fucking Drama Queen”, the said, to no one in particular.]

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