I feel it most in the morning,
my knees painful as I limp around,
coffee brewing, slowly dripping
as my alarm makes another mournful sound.
I feel it when I walk down the stair
my cane taps against the cold concrete,
and see it in the boots I always wear,
the soles commended for the Lord to keep.
I see it in the way she looks at me,
her eyes studying my stance and gait,
and I remember her young, carefree,
before she had to carry my weight.
In the evening we make the plans,
to save up for a service dog, or not,
and realize I’ll never walk on sand,
she, sadly accepting of her lot.
In the morning I take up my battered stick,
the finish scarred by bumps and drops,
and look at her, feeling like a prick,
as the sun peeks over treetops,
and I kiss her twice on her forehead,
and she smiles, and my stomach drops,
and I go to work with much less dread,
though I still feel like a prick,
because she and I will soon be wed,
but I still make myself feel sick
as I grip the wheel, my knuckles red.
Carrying
John Rutherford works at Lamar University in Beaumont, TX and has been published in the Texas Poetry Assignment, the Concho River Review and Z Publishing's Best New and Emerging Poets of Texas.
Outlook has eaten all of my emails,
I’m grumbling, struggling with my work
fingers crossed, I hope IT prevails.
I need to build the schedule, you see,
it’s hard to do, I’m driven to my knees,
Outlook has eaten all of my emails.
I’m chewing over my amendment forms,
I really ought to treat this all with scorn,
fingers crossed, I hope IT prevails.
There really isn’t much for me to do,
I hurry up and wait, check the news,
Outlook has eaten all of my emails.
I’m tired, and my stomach hurts,
I get up and make some tea with a lurch,
fingers crossed, I hope IT prevails.
I sit and daydream of a fairytale,
nothing else to do but wait and dream,
Outlook has eaten all of my emails,
fingers crossed, I hope IT prevails.