The Patience of the Sun

The sun winks me awake through the wrinkle    
and bend of the venetian blinds  
dusting off sleep, stumbling out of bed    
I pray they will let me go out to play    
   
they no longer smile when they shake    
their heads ‘you are not well enough, no’    
So I argue as if reason mattered  
haggle with a hardly disguised glower  
   
"we are never well enough anymore  
the lungs are past the age of just able    
the spryness is imagined, we are    
never one hundred percent anymore"  
   
the slice of sunlight on the wall has inched  
but there is no hurrying, the day    
accepts whatever play is left    
in my back and loins and competences  
   
we are never one hundred percent  
now and anymore though the legs    
may disagree at first and incaution  
can be cause of scrapes and scolding.