Pain’s back
by Caroline Barron
I thought I was back in the game, back in the saddle,
but instead I’m back to square one, back to the drawing board, caught on the back foot.
I’m strong but rehab is backbreaking; pain smoulders on the backburner.
How many times can you straighten your back, fight back, stitch yourself back together?
I wish I could back away, hold back, take it all back.
Make a deal with that motherfucking pain, ‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’
But it answers back; the bad penny finds a way…
These back-to-back-to-back surgeries, back for more, but no, I won’t, I won’t let it be the straw that breaks.
*
Breathe in, breathe back out.
*
I won’t back down.
Strapped back up. Back on the pills. Back on the mat. Back to it.
Bone tired and back to black.
But watch for me,
there I am over there, a shaft of cells backed up against the horizon
Dragging the sack of pain over-shoulder—like some unflinching limping St Nick—
making my way right back.