Stupid Knee

Rock show. Folding theater seat. Violent knee injury. Work the next day. Emergency room day after that. Orthopedist. Noisy magnet tunnel. Waiting. Making phone calls. Appointments. More waiting. Diagnosis. Propensity for knee dislocation. Over-pronation. Iliotibial band. Sports medicine is my favorite kind of medicine and my favorite kind of therapist knows the body like god. 7 weeks to walk straight. With a new dog. And no disability. Slow elevator. Taking the pooch for a limp and a poop. Crutches. Cane. Brace. Hobble. Painkillers. Ice packs. Netflix. Damn standard transmission. Thank god for friends. And physical therapists. Finally returned to the walking world. Fearful of everything dangerous. Salivating at the chance to tempt fate again. Gimmie the streets. Like impending disaster. Tastes like candy. Gravity is a myth and the air I’m immediately breathing may be a final act. So I’d like to play, please.

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