Well, You’re Dead
and I’m holding my own,
taking on water, mainly
in my feet and ankles,
filling up like a rain gauge
or the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Time hangs burdens on us:
weight, fatigue, regret
the most noticeable.
They bind our hands and
plant our feet to the soil,
to a moment that
no longer exists
on this twisting Earth.
A mediocre boxer,
I keep moving, clockwise,
around this ring,
shoulders hunched,
waiting for the bell.
The work of Robert L. Penick has appeared in over 200 different literary journals. The Art of Mercy: New and Selected Poems is due in October from Hohm Press, and more of his work can be found at theartofmercy.net.
