i wake every morning to crackling shoulders,
knees, hips that scream down the stairs.
you will be old before me; i will push your wheel chair.
promise.
until i have one, too. Then we will tie ours together
and our hips won't scream down the stairs because
we will race our bigwheels down them,
maybe tumble trying to stay young.
I will go blind first, but
you will grow deaf before me. will
not have to listen to our noisy joints.
will not hear the neighbors knock through the floor:
your drums are still too loud.
