Gently does it, they all say,
as I grow impatient with immobility.
I don’t want gentle –
I want to run and jump, and swim a mile,
dance all night then play a match
of squash or golf or ride a horse
along the shore, splashing up waves;
travel the world without a hitch,
go to places I’ve never been,
see the things I’ve not yet seen.
Instead, I gently creep about
with cushions piled on every chair
supporting this broken old crone.
Dammit, I don’t want gentle,
I want to ROAR.