(This is a
Mayan necklace)
Check
in the yellow pages of my teeth
to
find the dentist
who
capped each with gold,
built
ceramic replicas.
These
Mayan jewels
are bought
from smiling men
in
gowns, with drills – with yachts.
Then
my eyes – hooded drooping lids,
camera obscura
because
of cataracts,
retinal
derelictions,
waving
seaweed floaters.
I
see through glasses
darkly.
Don’t
ask to view me naked –
redundant
skin folds, wrinkles,
scars
of battle with obesity.
X-rays
inside my knees
reveal
eroded cartilage –
I
take 5,000 steps a day –
not
necessarily on the spot.
Remarkably,
against the odds
I do move forward.
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