At nights end
you will hobble
sixteen thousand steps
on sloped concrete
flames up
in ninety-degree rooms
mincing garlic
on too short rickety
tables
ladling soup
from too tall
counters
stock pot’s edge
higher
than you
and you with
no edibles
lean over the table,
bend,
touch the plate
at the height that
strains your right
hip
do it again
and again
and again
dinner for twelve
drink water
eat food
stretch
make a date with Epsom salts
put inserts in your shoes
drink more water
Day twenty-five’s prompt was to write a warning to yourself. I should know by now that my feet will hurt and I haven’t had enough water.
