I don’t know how he does it
Oxycontin days, Seroquel nights
spent in spasms of pain
I don’t know how he does it
doctor after doctor sighing and turning
away, after ablations, infusions,
and off-label drugs don’t work

I don’t know how he does it
flashbacks of being tossed in the air
by a red Honda running a red light
landing on the street ten yards later
sirens flashing, CTs and MRIs
traumatic brain injury
I don’t know how he can smile,
crack jokes and be so kind

I don’t know how he can put
profiles on dating sites
despite no nibbles
I don’t know how he can do it
after ten dragging years
body twisted and torqued, people staring
as he hobbles by on a cane
I don’t know how you do it, my son