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  Michael Estabrook
   
     
 
Coconut Palm Trees
 
We’ve travelled all day
and haven’t slept
and now we’re walking along
this beautiful beach, incredible
with its coconut palm trees stretching
their shadows out across
the soft off-white sand, while lush
waves caress the shore.
But my back is killing me
and I seemed to have sprained
my stupid foot. “Can you slow down a little,
Honey?” I ask my wife.
“I’m not very strong, you know.”
She retorts immediately, the sun
glinting off her sunglasses,
“I understand, you’re a poet after all.”
And I’m surprised at her response,
and think how after my nine-hour dorsal
lumbar spinal fusion surgery, Dr. Magee
looked down at me, patted my arm and said,
“My God, what a mess it was back there.
I don’t know how you’ve managed to bear
such pain all these years.”

 

 


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