have uneasy shoulders, dropped and slanted,
like tired men in thin coats.
Now, my shoulder — the joint is a ball and socket,
an apple in a cup;
quite tough, a nice lump.
If I could reach round far enough
I’d take it in my teeth,
a loose-mouthed dog enjoying the game.
I can just touch the tip
with my tongue, it’s tantalizing
when I would like a soft bite,
salt, grained, warm meat.
I have to be careful of my own appetite.