Dealing with the Pain Blues
By Alan J Winters
The morning came limping through a sky the color of steel,
And every joint in my body said, “Son, this hurt is real.”
I tried to stretch the stiffness, but the ache just refused
Another day of walking with the dealing‑with‑the‑pain blues.
The coffee pot was hissing like it knew what I’d been through,
And the mirror in the hallway said, “Yeah, I see it too.”
I buttoned up my jacket, but the cold still cut right through
That’s how you start a morning with the dealing‑with‑the‑pain blues.
I shuffled out to Main Street where the old boys like to talk,
But even they were moving slow, each step a careful walk.
We traded quiet nods, the kind that don’t accuse
Just men who know the rhythm of the dealing‑with‑the‑pain blues.
By noon the sun was shining, but it didn’t warm my bones,
And the wind across the prairie sang its long, familiar tones.
I kept pushing through the hours, though my body felt misused
Every breath a reminder of the dealing‑with‑the‑pain blues.
But somewhere in the distance, past the weight I drag along,
There’s a stubborn little heartbeat that keeps tapping out a song.
It whispers, “You’re still standing, even battered, even bruised”
A quiet kind of courage in the dealing‑with‑the‑pain blues.