routine
routine
in my routine of afternoon tea
with baguettes and cream cheese
i did triage of myself
i dread the sinking feeling of aging
creaking kneecaps
squaring off facing a match
against snowcrete
my shovels whimper
defeated as i settle
down to ponder
how to shoehorn
the word zebra into a poem

‘shoehorn a zebra’ making what doesn’t, fit