I am feeling rather old today,
with swollen discs from humid air,
joints, stomach, in disrepair.
My shoulders ache
Gaseous vapors rake
through my intestine wall,
a mere thirty years before the fall.
North, South, East, West
an abhorrent pill, a cruel jest.
Soon, I turn 32
My grass has grown,
and there is no dew.
Tonight, she will stroke my hair
and then I can fake a belly-ache
beyond compare.
Sympathy
is the only thing
lovlier
than a tree.
Especially, sympathy
foisted on me.