Monkey See

Mind-body goes the mantra.
But what of body over mind?
To will the body into suppliance is a difficult endeavor,
for it’s an unwieldily thing.
It doesn’t want to do what I tell it,
like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, its opinion is woefully strong.
I’m hungry-I’m thirsty-I’m tired.
To deign a leg to move gracefully behind the head.
Oh, the impossibility!
And then the other.
Cross, darn feet!
Lift up!
The body’s grudge isn’t the pain of creaking hips; those open like rusty hinges.
Nor is it the fear of falling backwards; I trust that my arms will catch the floor.
It just likes to whine,
especially when I make it fly,
though at the moment when no part of me is touching the ground, I say,
“Move, now!”
And it does, an obedient dog.
Then my hands catch myself before I land,
so as to not break a toe.
Because I have heard that can happen.

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