Bah

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In the shoe store's full length mirror
My jeans hang sagging, draping
Awkwardly front and back, each leg
Pancaking flat at either ankle side.
Elbow and strain and atrophy have carved my figure
Disproportionate. Chest and belly, hips,
Loosely padded by black plaid, bulge relatively
Over the belt cinched to a custom circumference,
Newly punctured leather drawing
The waistline to bunch and fold.

To those unaware of the painstaking progress,
Were one to kick away my cane support, I might
Crumble forward, crooked knee and withered
Thigh unable to overpower the top-heavy
Gravity of seeming illness. I, who know
The time and pressure, see only the disillusion
Of forward momentum and the permanence of fate.

The shoes fit well enough. They hang
Like weights from broken pendulums.