All in your head dear.
The most true insult.
I predicted our impending
boat crash inside my head.

The boat did crash that day,
a real boat, a glitter bronze
refinish from 1968 with white
seats and brown trim. We hit
a jet ski that damaged a dock.

I dislocated my knee at twelve,
later, at thirteen, my arm broke.
It was all in my head until
it was all in a cast.
The knee locks up,
but since it isn’t real
I guess that maybe it doesn’t.
There’s still this pressing fear
that, once in traffic, I may
actually pee my pants.
It’s never happened but
there was this one time
in the Denver Airport
that only my husband saw.
I should know it’s only
a thing that I make up
so that I can worry.
I guess I like to worry.

I had an MRI once. I liked
that, I could see a truth.
I saw a therapist for a while.
I thought about the truth.
Both times I left with a label.
Maybe I could hang all that worry
and to something tangible.
Nothing got fixed. Even if it did
I would just make up something
new, because isn’t that my thing?