ODE TO MY BACK

For My Mother

Everyday I wake 
to your constant hammering
at my spine
beneath the flesh,
pounding nails of pain
into my body.
I comfort you 
with heating pads and pills
but you still chop my spine
as if I was a tree,
calling, "Timber!"
as my strength crashes
to the freshly mopped floor.
I carry you,
a silent disease
nibbling away at my health
and happiness.
You're making me old.
Someday,
husband and children
will thank me
for putting up with you.