Before you get the wrong idea about this, I'll say the following poem is about what happens when my doctor realigns my spine. I'm in good shape right now, and haven't needed this procedure in quite a while. I almost wish I did have a stiff neck or something, and had an excuse to make an appointment with him - it's always given me so much relief and makes me feel so good. I know it sounds weird, but this is nothing like going to a chiropractor. Mark King is a D.O., and is a regular physician who can prescribe medicine, but he has also been trained to "crack your back" (I just don't know what else to call it). I found this poem in a box of neglected old papers and belongings, hand-written on the back of a typed reminder from school to put more money in a child's lunch account. It was written in 2008.

The Smashee and the Smasher

What can I say? He rolls his body into me,

after folding mine up as if it was a pretzel and then puts his weight in -

my goal is to relax as much as possible -

it hurts but only to the point until

I can surrender,

give in to it, trust,

breath being forced out

snap, snap, snap, snap

go the vertebrae in my spine

like a row of dominos.

"Are you ok?" he asks

The chi is released

unmeasurable

I feel its brand new unblocking

And he gives it one last go

the air pushed out of me

as if I was a tired accordion.

"Ohhh." Then, "That was great."

I stand taller.

My shoulders roll back and flatten.

My hips are no longer locked.

It is an old ritual. Our bodies are both softer now -

He trembled with exertion before,

because it takes all his great strength and force and fearlessness

to accomplish this act.

He is so much heavier and taller than me, yet

it's a perfect fit.

I flatter myself by telling myself

maybe this somehow completes him

as much as it does me.

-SLG