I get out of bed and my knees creak.
Lately, they creak more and more.
When I was younger, I ran track. 100, 200 metres.
In school, the other students called me Bullet.
As I darted around from end to end.
I could have been a champion, they said.
Could have been. Like everything else in my life.
Now I’m here and I struggle.
With the knees.
They creak going up the stairs. They creak on turns.
This month I have a walking stick.
Last month, I had knee braces.
This shouldn’t be happening to the Bullet.