"14 hours"

Fourteen hours on my feet. I wish the fairest of them all could walk a meter in my shoes. These wicked stumps called feet lay bruised. The bumps and blisters make their homes inside the skin that wraps the bones of fourteen hours--much too long--of stress and disarray.

Fourteen hours on these toes. These fractured, fingered, feathered foes. And guest requests that run me ragged, ripping through these aging knees. This evil demon, arthritis, crawling through decrepit hips. I limp and linger, licking lips to hydrate for a moment--the shortness of this minute but an hour goes too long.