My gouty foot

shouts doubt at night,

turns up the pain

if I don’t eat right. 

Warming comfort

isn’t enough, to amuse 

my grumbling

two-bit hoof.

 

My broken big toe

won’t let go.

Keeps telling me off

for its creaky woes. 

It’s my fault

for this sorry state,

should’ve skipped the tackle,

pulled out too late.

 

My gallbladder

was a constant moaner.

Too many stones

one after another.

The pain it caused

felt like no other.

Stones set in silver, good

riddance to the fucker.

  

My knees walk

a sorry slow retreat,

all the batter

they sportingly received.

Couple of ops fixed

the tired and torn, given

them a whole lotta cartilage

to mourn.

 

My joints have a point

when they complain. 

One too many pushes

end up in pure pain.

Well past fantastic,

too easily stressed.

My ‘best before end dates’

are overstretched.