The Hinge Below

The curb just leapt, I swear,

from nowhere.

A quick, nasty jolt

through the whole leg, then that specific

snap and wrench

right at the ankle.

Not a fall, not even close.

Just enough to remind me.

This complicated hinge,

knobs and ropes, held tight

by skin, a thin, stretched glove.

How much it takes, how little

it takes to go wrong.

The ache starts, low and dull,

a promise of stiffness.

It holds me up, this thing.

Or doesn't.

Just the knowing,

the vulnerable machinery.