Woke up with a stranger in my hip

Woke up with a stranger in my hip.

A dull ache, a quiet, stubborn grip.

It wasn't there yesterday, I swear.

Just appeared, taking up its share

of morning. Like a guest who stayed

too long, a bill not yet repaid.

My knee, it cracks when I stand up tall,

a sound not mine, a warning call.

This skin, it thins, this hair, it grays,

these fingers stiff on colder days.

It’s a good suit, worn thin in places,

showing through to hidden spaces.

But it's not mine, not truly, just a lease.

And the landlord's coming, soon enough, to seize

the property. This vessel, nearly done.