The Weak Step

A twist, a snap, the sidewalk slips,

a throb that blooms where balance dips.

That ankle swells with silent shame,

a bruise that’s not to blame or name.

The ground it knew turned sharp and cold,

a sudden fold, a story told

in aches that catch me unprepared—

a weak spot found, a body snared.

Every step’s a question now,

a warning pressed beneath the brow.

The quick stumble rewrites the map,

a quiet threat behind each tap.