we should do something about pain management
my doctor Eileen concerned my talon hands
what was my good knee
and the dull ache in my back need
My Body is a Temple OK?
pressing the green pensioner button
Old Bill comes in the reception door
moves slowly a square rule on a cane
across and out the waiting room slider
a horizontal elephant walk memory
through what was once his house
towards the pie shop
he knows won’t last forever
in this town cars stop for pedestrians
the surfers have coffee under the parasols
of the world’s most expensive health food shop
at Jill’s bakery winner of the best on earth
flocks of gully tourists squabble to grab
of what Paris nodded the winning fare
in the library I see two of my collections are out
Jesus They Must Think I’m Dead
Bill’s on the bench by the flagpole
making the chicken and vegetable shell
go a marathon in his mouth
the pastry light as heavens rising
he makes the cursory offer of crust
plated on what I see is the back cover
of my special edition the blurb obscured
politely I decline smiling for a biro
My Body is a Temple OK!
James Walton Poetry 