I was called a muscle strain
I am the twist in the court, the sharp stroke.
Call me not cramp, please, I am more
Than the minor injury after a crooked jump
I am the jarring and piercing note
of a fiddle played upside down.
I mean pain, I do hurt.
(now hearken to me)
Where you walk, I stalk and – mind it!
When I get there, you're bound to crawl
Whoever you are, down on your knees!
(if you manage to do it).
Understand this: no more track and fields
You rickety little thing sucking dry ice
One leg and a half minus a hamstring
borrowing clutches but unable to rise.
Call me names if you want, I swore
I was the faulty leap, I tame the limp.
I am the balance you lost and seek.