Passage 20.
The yellow back wheel
rises up, up, up
past the tipping point.
I can see mica flakes
on the approaching
rock my shoulder meets.
It’s true!
Everything happens
in slow motion–
wheel, air, rock, shoulder.
Am I stopped?
Is this happening?
No one is around,
not even Go-Pro
to pique an interest
in the recounting
of my glorious
End-o.
“Your rotator cuff
is not torn.
See?” Doc reassures.
He smiles. I smile too.
Protractor measures
my range of motion.
PT tech rotates
my shoulder to its
tipping point.
The apparatus
gleams like mica.
Slowly, my shoulder
meets the coils for
transcutaneous
electrical nerve
stimulation.
Tiny pulsating
fingers reach down deep
as my PT guy
leaves me to myself.
No Go-Pro films this.
He is completely
uninterested
in the recounting
of my glorious
End-o.
It was like the slow
upending crack-up
of my spouse, my mind,
mutual wrestling
on mica-flecked street.
No Go-Pro films this.
We meet in the calm
courthouse with our judge.
He is completely
uninterested
in the recounting
of my glorious
End-o.