Squatter's Rights

The L4 disc pinched hard enough

to make me Arthur’s temporary guest.

I sat on his name, cold and rough,

a metal slab for a permanent rest.

The brass screws are weeping green,

leaking onto the graying wood.

He was a 'beloved husband,' a scene

I haven't ever understood.

My spine finally starts to unspool,

but Arthur is still stuck in the grit.

The city is crowded and cruel,

and this is the only way he can sit.