The Lease

I woke up and the neck wouldn't turn.

A hitch in the cable, a knot in the wood.

The body is a house I didn't build

and the rent is getting higher.

I pinched the skin on the back of my hand

to see if I was still holding water.

The ridge of flesh stayed there, peaked,

a little tent of meat that forgot its place.

It took a full second to go back down.

The landlord is coming by more often now,

checking the wear on the floors.