Knees, you are scrapbook
of my life–
when I fell skating
left knee, injured tobogganing.
That memory is thumbtacked
on bulletin board
of my life,
Knees that complain
when going up hills
and down hills.
But dear knees–
you still
get me around
independently without walker
or cane or any kind of surgery
I talk to you
and thank you
Somehow you hear
and absorb and comply
Is it the talking
or the stroking?