Language has always fascinated me. The way words work. Sarcasm, irony, subtext and the dead serious undertones in ostensible comedy.
This poem is about pain.
Every morning I see my maternal Grandfather in the bathroom mirror. In my pre-schooler’s eyes, Homer V. Collins was the most ancient person I could possibly imagine. He sat in a lawn chair on the front porch. it was summer but he was wearing a camel-hair overcoat, a straw boater hat and smoked a cigar.
Why was he wearing an overcoat in June?
Because he was cold, but that didn’t kill him.
He was hypertensive but that didn’t kill him either.
He slipped on a newspaper that was laying on the carpet. The exact order of the what happened next is open to speculation. He fell and broke his hip, but his hip could have broken first and then he fell. The exact order of events hardly mattered when he was laying on his back on the living room floor. An ambulance came and took him away.
I saw him once after that. He was in a hospital bed. He was being very crabby. Of all the people I have known personally, he was the first one to die. I did not see him die. My Mom saw him die. I took her word for it. Why has he come back to stare back at me in the mirror?
I am also cold, all the time, but that probably won’t kill me.
I am likewise hypertensive. That may not kill me outright, but we aren’t ruling it out.
I have a chronic kidney disease. It is called Membraneous nephropathy with nephrotic syndrome. It may very well kill me unless I fall in front of a bus or step on a leopard. You should avoid all of these as a general rule.
Nevertheless, If you are afforded a choice between them, go for the bus. It is quick.
Some people just have to go out in a blaze of glory. Go ahead, choose the leopard. Show offs.
Membraneous nephropathy with nephrotic syndrome is not recommended. Dialysis will put off the inevitable for a while but the only cure is a kidney transplant which carries a lot of risks and no guarantees. The disease progresses in five stages. My doctor tells me that I am in the final stage.
She is very smart and I believe her. Even if I didn’t believe her, she would still be right.
I am scheduled for a kidney biopsy tomorrow. We will know more after that.
I am expecting a questionnaire to arrive in the mail next week. It is the first step in the search for a new kidney.
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One of the best poems I ever wrote was in response to a picture of some wild turkeys.
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Wild Turkeys,
they are wild!
They are turkeys!
Wingo-wango!
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I am always cold.
My legs always hurt from the swelling.
The doctor put me on a waiting list, just in case.
Kidney biopsy Tomorrow.
Wingo-wango
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In a man there are cracks,
baggy eyes,
bad water.
Welcome to stage five.
I am going to curl up in my SaraR/Winglion Quilt.
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Bufflehead
sackbut
hitherto
fandango
castanets
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Wild Turkeys,
they are wild!
They are turkeys!
Wingo-wango!
Thanks, OceanDiver!
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---Freiherr von Münchhausen