My body tends to bend
and I don’t like it
one little bit.


It’s probably too late
to make it straight
but I keep on trying.


When I stand up
I sort of lean —
that’s how I’m seen.


Old age is mean
that way —
at least to some us.


I see my silhouette
against a wall —
it’s not as tall as once it was.

I press the back of me
against a door
and I deplore the curvature.


Does my body seek the fetal mode
and place a load
upon the shape that I desire?

I think the years conspire
and  I’ll not cease from bending
as I grapple with my ending!

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