I’ve not experienced pain.
Not Victor Frankl’s Auschwitz.
Not teeth chiselled to the gum
like candidate John McCain.
Not repetitious electrode interrogation.
Not even, like my Marion with our first born
laboured into sight one thundery Thursday.
Gall stones grabbed my attention once
but they were soon handed to me
in a zip-lock bag.
Some people qualify to speak pain,
to understand why Lance Armstrong
wouldn’t have wanted to miss his cancer.
Does pain innocence make free
from yin-yang vortex destiny?
Can I savour the sweet verb of existence
without the counterpoint? Could I
like dancing Christ choose pain by love
to outpace the dark relentless trudge?