I Wish Someone Had My Back
I don’t, really. I really don’t.
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
I wish I had someone else’s back.
I wish that I could walk to the kitchen
without stopping to lean and stretch
on the back of the sofa, on the
dining room’s breakfront, on the
nearest kitchen chair. I wish.
Instead I grunt and stumble.
Coffee gets brewed in a painful blur.
I wish that someone had my back.
I wish I had someone else’s.