I straighten, but the world tilts,
and my eyes are cameras
that refuse to stay steady
and focus.
I twist, but my stomach turns,
and my knees become landing gear
guiding my descent
toward the tile floor.
I yield, but my body fights on
and rejects the breakfast
I haven’t eaten.
And all I can think
is that I feel bad for Lucille 2 —
I’ll still laugh, but I’ll also cringe
the next time she stumbles.


*As part of National Poetry Month, I’m writing at least one poem each day in April. This is the first poem.


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