I Can’t Fit into My Body
This body is a bad suit,
a body with a mind.
My elbows are glued
to my arms all wrong.
They smack doorposts,
tumble vases, flowers
and all.
My fingers don’t reach
to the ends of my arms.
I fumble keys,
drop hot casserole dishes.
My knees are balloons
that bulge and bruise
from table edges.
These legs, oh
these legs demand
a different destination
from where I want to go.
My feet stumble over
invisible rocks.
My toes are too long
for my sandals,
they break just because.
Where is that distracted tailor
who sewed me together?
I want my money back.