Self grew impatient with body.
How quickly can we heal? We?
Asked body in reply. What do you mean
By we? I have to do all the healing.
Hah, replied self, courtesy of the mind
Who was hosting the whole nonsense
Debate, as usual. I am the one who
Will suffer the longest for your
Falls and failings, self insisted. Body
Was having none of it. Body was sore.
Self was sore at body. Mind grew weary.
Sleep would be good for everybody,
Otherwise there would be nothing left
Except to blame the rotten board
In the dock, the owner who didn't replace
It sooner, the weather that rotted
The dock, the inheritance that made body
Vulnerable to such falls, the crutch
That acted as a lever, pole-vaulting
Body, mind, and self, into the gravel shore.
And blaming would get no one anywhere,
As satisfying as it might be to have someone
Or something to blame, thought self. You
Would think that, thought body. I would
Think all of this and I did, said mind.
Now let's enjoy the sun on the pines.
We'll heal or we won't this time, like
Other times. We'll heal or we'll die or
Most likely we'll heal and then die.
Then mind realized it wasn't even
Pretending to have any other roles
And was just parasite talking to parasite
About the nature of things, thus, a poem.
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