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Ode to Knees


Their faces are scarred and wrinkled
like the faces of mobsters.

If anything their reckless
behavior of throwing themselves

like punches into someone's
groin

reinforces our negative
image of them.

They are rarely recalled
fondly.

At seven I threw myself
over the saddle of a bike

for the first time.
The street turned into choppy waters

and my bike foundered.
Pain shot through my knees

like arcing fireworks.
Yet my father encouraged me:

"Great job!" he shouted.
My knees were scarred tissue,

but he slung me on his shoulder
and we hiked back, our own parade.

My father whistled as my knees,
wounded heroes, came home.

The knees hurt
turn red
yet they carry you
all the way through
you praise them
and sing about them.

Bob---

i sure dig the core, lines like this:




Their faces are scarred and wrinkled
like the faces of mobsters.


and this marshal close is terrific...


but he slung me on his shoulder
and we hiked back, our own parade.

My father whistled as my knees,
wounded heroes, came home.


but the continuing personification cloys on this reader, mucho quick.


just talk to me, adult to adult. a chat with a doctor over scans, or a coach benching you before a local game of high interest, your unsuccessful attempt at a romantic marriage proposal, your bride alarmed by the sub zero temperature of your poorly clothed knees.....




bernie