365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Four

rusted shut.
kick and kick but resistance is futile.
worked all muscles.
but atrophy set in.
there were too many days.
between standing and laying.
then trying to stand again.
remember the exercises.
salvation lies in.
finding the flexibility.
to reach one thing at a time.
while holding off the pain.
fingers, wrists, arms.
all tingles, no way of knowing.
if they are doing what I say.
we accounted for this.
water is wet, after all.
rust will flake, salt dissolve.
with the right tools.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

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