My legs are becoming a poker hand that can't win.
My knees lack cartilage, my feet have arthritis,
but at least everything is still down there, below me,
like a pair of threes. I have to bluff to win.
I am not complaining.
Recently I was on the bus in Sacramento,
where all the buses have ramps for wheelchairs.
A fellow rolled on whose legs were shrunken and tiny,
and I could see the excitement in his face,
pleased to be out in the world like anyone else.
And I wondered about his life; how does he shower?
Use the toilet? Does he have someone to hold him,
to love him? Is he always this cheerful,
or does it all get to him sometimes?
Late at night. Alone and suffering.
Life deals from the bottom of the deck,
quite a lot. Life cheats, and wins the pot.
And life can also play fair and still win.
When we win, we need to savor it.
Laugh out loud and buy a round for the house.
Yes, walking is getting harder all the time.
Walking the six uphill blocks from the train station
to my daughter's apartment can set me back a day
in recovery time. But I am walking, not rolling.
I walk into my shower. I walk over to my wife
and take her in my arms.
I'm still in this poker game.