Visible Man I’ve been CAT Scanned, MRI’d, ultra-sounded, x ray’d here and x ray’d there, lab-tested and examined till I’ve become the new visible man, a new video game they’ve played on all their screens, winners and losers alike adjusting this prescribing that. I’m the visible man pictured more for his insides than the out, the subject of tests and reports, the much prescribed for victim of our times and the woes of getting old. I’m the visible man hiding at home waiting for the next call, the email suggesting another change in medicine or dosage or both or yet another test or way of viewing the inner me, the inner me I tried to hide away, but I have become the visible man and they are all viewing waiting to stake another claim, another diagnosis, another bit of invisibility to expose. On Mornings Like This There are mornings, like today, when getting out of bed is a task, a trial, something I would avoid if I could. On mornings like this I stay under covers, on my side, on my back, properly pillowed, secure and then I begin to think about the day to come, I remember all the other days, so many now, days that were frustrating, even frightening, other days that hurt, days when I was happy, I was sad. These memories hold me there, where it seems I almost have a choice – begin again and let the day come to me, let it be whatever it will be, or just stay there and let to- day go on without me, like the elderly recluse I sometimes imagine I am, bedridden, beyond caring what the day will bring. It’s like the old one about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results – the insanity of the thing, this getting up expecting something different, something unexpected. My saner self just stays there, lays there for a while weighing the possibilities, then he’s up moving, starts up, feet on the floor, stumbles a bit, and then sets out on yet another day. Organ Recital Today it’s my right elbow, feels like my left knee felt yesterday, pain I can’t shake out today, couldn’t walk off yesterday. It works like that, mobile, always ready to relocate. It’s like my body comes up with a new dis- traction each day; one day it’s my back, my shoulder my neck, it stays long enough to slow me down, stays long enough to make an impression but then it moves on. It’s part of aging I’m sure. I remember as kids my sister Liz and I used to joke about our old relatives and called the first part of their/our visits ‘the organ recital.’ They would describe each pain in great detail, locate it for us and compare it to other pains they knew we needed to know about. On the way home or after they left we’d imitate them, voice and all, and have a good laugh. Now when Liz and I get to talk, by phone these days, we begin with an inventory of aches and pains, this condition and that. We get the irony, even call it by the name our joke used, our organ recital. Today it’s my right elbow and I feel like someone’s aging relative, feel like mentioning it to anyone who would listen, knowing they need to know. J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Literary Yard, Vox Poetica, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Pendemic, and Eskimo Pie.