~
It’s said when men sleep
they often adopt a foetal pose
cradling the body part
they hold most dear,
when I can’t sleep
my index-finger
circles the bony knot,
where my ribcage was
bolted back together
nothing else left to show,
resting on this smooth
protrusive mound
as Rodin’s sculpture
I am set to thought
In quiet I
feel my heart beat
a rhythmic bump
akin to an errant
juggling ‘thud’ falling
to a hard floor, or
a tramp steamer’s
mechanical piston
dour chug on a calm ocean,
somewhat reassuring,
and mindful of the
overwhelming fragility
of my existence
the perpetual reminder
that none of us know
the duration of this game
we all play
I count my blessings
tempus fugit
*
© Graham R Sherwood 03/23
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 