When off on the road, a motel room’s a swell room—
Big beds, lots of pillows, and acres to stretch—
But no, I was sleeping on couches, so “ouch” is
The travel review from this Cuttlefish wretch.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a happy old chappy;
I saw lots of family, and had a great time
But damn, it is clear that I’m older; my shoulder
Is hurting—beyond either reason or rhyme
Now, several days back, I’m still hurtin’ for certain
I’d love for this torment to just go away
I’ve iced, I’ve tried meds, I’ve tried showers for hours
But strangely, I’m not even tempted to pray
You know—if it works when I choose it, I’d use it
But prayer has a record of failure or worse.
So, no, I won’t pray, though I’m moaning and groaning…
With Pain for my muse, I’m complaining in verse.
There, there, Cuttlefish. Now that you’ve had a nice, poetical whine I’m sure you’ll feel better.
Poetical whines have, strangely enough, precisely the same effect as prayer on shoulder aches.
That is to say, precisely none.
Goddammit.
I’ve noticed the same thing about shoulder aches and non-poetical whines. Do you know any physical therapists?
Perhaps you should try some poetical wine, instead. Works for me.
Al @#3– sadly, my wonderful former neighbor was a massage therapist… but is only a *former* neighbor. I have an offer from a friend of Cuttleson, which I will try if it lasts much longer.
Treb @ # 4, sadly, I only have non-poetical wine… alas, it doesn’t do much. I keep trying, though.
(Having arthritus in my left shoulder, I hear you…)
There’s tumbling a-sleep with a twich
Moving a bit, what a bitch!
The pain wakens one
The clock has struck one
And residing to sleep’s just a glich!
And here I didn’t know cuttlefish even had shoulders.
Cuttlefish shoulders, the pain sometimes hits
Though some cannot see it, we feel it
The ache oftens lingers
Massaging with fingers
Can, sometimes, alleviate a bit.
From journey before
Shoulderblade’s sore
Meds are fine
Poetic wine
Would help more
When there’s pain in a joint,
It’s time to anoint,
With a little bit of wine,
Though sometimes I’m not sure,
If it helps any more,
Than a poetically inclined whine.