CLOT

 

Pins 'n' needles

caused you to drop cups,

fumble at buttons and zips,

lose your grip

on pens,

tools,

job and self-worth;

existence shrank to an avenue,

a garden,

a house;

this ward

along which you

struggle to meet me:

dead one side,

stiff,

lurching,

while leading with a shoulder

to stop life slamming shut,

as my name crosses your

mind slowly as a scalpel.