John

You never complain. You stoop
into the sunroom, duck a little
under the campy chandalier above the table,
bend down with elbows on the washer
to watch the sparrows in the yard, awkward mobs of starlings,
grackles scattered like black napkins on the lawn—

I don't think you really expect, ever,
to stand up straight in any room.
Certainly not in your office at school,
certainly not in your classrooms.
not in the supermarket, homes of friends, or car.

You must have long ago resigned yourself
to the absolutely chronic,
slight bending of a back.

How amazingly, disturbingly elegant now
is the bending of your back.