Philoctetes at the Physio

By U. S. DHUGA 

No compunction, my physiotherapist

Exits, kale juice in hand, the Raw Chemist

 

With the swagger of a Neoptolemus

Who will lie to me, to you, to all of us

 

For the sake of winning what he mythifies

As our battle. I watch him pause, flex his thighs,

 

Draw a single, surreptitious Pall Mall

(Menthol-filtered) from his Nike carryall.

 

I tighten the brace back round my ankle

Wondering if and when we’re setting sail.

 

Today the greaved pain is barely bearable.

Not so my personnel.

 

[Purchase Issue 13 here]

U. S. Dhuga’s new book is The Sight of a Goose Going Barefoot.

 

Philoctetes at the Physio

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