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A coworker asked if I was okay today.

That was kind.

And kind of necessary?

Was he concerned for my wellbeing?


I believe something wasn’t right in his daily routine.

He’d like to correct or control that.


That is I.

I am that.

That thing.

Some thing among so many things.


Would he accept the job to support me, to control the situation?

Is being in command a sufficient award for services?


I am more concerned about the skin sensitivity on my back.

I found the burning sensation is most likely due to unusual body activity.

I’ve discerned stretching as the cause, for I partook in an unfamiliar yoga stretch yesterday.


My back midsection is a dire concern.

A dire situation.

Are dire consequences at bay?

Is my back-skin irritation above all else?


I cannot see my back.

I cannot reach that point on my back.


If I were a cat …

If I were a bear …

Do fish have prickly, enflamed posteriors?

Ducks turn their necks and beak their rear areas, no problem.


My back is a problem.

My demeanor is a problem.


I scratch my itch.

My shirt lifts, exposing my belly.


My belly exposure is a problem.

My overall appearance is a problem.


I take off my shirt and vigorously scrape my back against the left door jamb.

I push against the right door jamb with my left foot for extra pressure.

Yoga techniques help, but I’m unable to acquire satisfaction on my own.


The coworker asks if I’m okay.


I ask him to scratch my back.

Dan Jones

Author Dan Jones

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