The Fighter's Body

They were right,
it's time to take a break.
Just a couple of days.
Just long enough
so I can chew this bacon sandwich
without the constant crack
of my jaw.

If I stand still
for longer than a few seconds
my left knee feels
as if it is about to part;
say a few goodbyes
and drop to the floor.

Then there's being propped up by pillows
all night whilst the pain in my shoulder
creeps not so silently
up my neck.

My left hand doesn't want to open
or close
not without the kind of resistance
you only find from the doors
of old unheated houses
in the winter

Today I'm dressed
like a terminally ill man
-joggers and a charity shop sweatshirt
that someone else probably died in-
about to waddle my way to work.
I'm not lifting a thing for them.
I need my two days
so I can do it all
over again.