I wrote this poem in June of 2024.

at least it’s a pretty rundown shack

my body feels like a rundown shack
that’s crumbling down slowly
I can’t get up in the morning
without my knee or hip
bitching and moaning
without me groaning in pain
and mumbling to myself
“Omg, another stupid day”
and cursing my genetics
that make me watch everything
I eat
and again I wonder
am I paying a karmic debt
for my colonizer ancestors

One thought on “poetry: shack”

  1. No karmic debt. I hope not. The body is so unreliable, so unfair for us to start out so perfect and from day one it’s downhill, but at least we have our health. Some kids have it horribly rough with cancer and what not and yet, they find a way to appreciate what little they have. Amazing.

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