In the Flesh

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
Walt Whitman

I thought about this while looking in the mirror this morning at my prematurely grey hair, receding hair line expanding and contracting mid section.
The hardened scars on my knuckles and hands.
My sturdy legs that hold me upright regardless of what is being consumed or raining down on me.
A bumblebee tattoo running down the length of my forearm.
Knees shot with ACL injuries.
Calloused feet.
Dark bloodhot eyes yearing for another hour of sleep.
Teeth darkened with coffee and cigarette stains.
Eyes that still sparkle with curiosity.
Imagination that refuses to tire.

I am not sure it is a great poem but it is my poem and despite the wear it makes me smile.