Compression

We laugh and make jokes about the stockings and me.

I say, "They're holding me together."

He says, questioning me as if I'm not telling the truth or
maybe I don't know, "They're holding you together?"

"Yes, holding me together literally," I repeat.

We both laugh hysterically hardly able to catch our breaths

bursting as though about to explode

We act like this is the first time we laughed at this.

Our laughter is like a rhyme held together by glue and
impending time.

 "They're holding me
together," I repeat and again he repeats after me, "They're holding you
together, " and again we laugh hysterically.




It is better to laugh than cry. Sometimes I cry and laugh at
once because of the absurdity of life. Don't try to anticipate the unexpected.
It can't work. It's a joke on me just like my father before me. Tears stream
and peals of laughter burst through at the same time. I laugh so hard I cry and
cry so hard I laugh. Maintaining mirthfulness merriment helps me get by with a
little help from my friends.




Life plays jokes while I dance through with songs in my head.
The fatuity is not futility. I remain hopeful to a new cause. Each joke has its
own device; No more criticizing –I pray that way – if I refrain so will they. One
crazy white Jewish poet is one of the 99 percent – they're moving everywhere, like
a silent storm creating a new reality, I struggle to see the light, make wrongs
right with the rest of the 99 percent.




I love how they squeeze me tight, expand my sight, I don't
fit it with the left or the right, helps me feel more strong & erect.

"They're holding me together," I tell my dentist.

My dentist replies, "It's good for your circulation."




Another friend asks, "Doesn't it hinder your blood flow?"

"To the contrary," I say, "They improve my blood flow."

"The elastic band on the stocking's top, I mean, will cut
off your blood flow."

"I can wear them all day and they don't bother me. They're helping
to hold me together."

 "Wouldn't it be
better if you wore pantyhose up to your waist?"

"No, my pelvis likes to be free to breathe," I said, "I
prefer these even if later in the day the elastic on top feels tight but that's
after at least eight hours."

"Oh," she replied, "If I had to wear them I'd prefer the other
kind."

You have no idea I thought in my mind but I didn't say out
loud.

"OK," I say out loud, mind on overtime to report, create a
retort.

I don high-quality blue workman's gloves with smooth rubber fingers
and palms I stretch and pull them, almost pure skintight up to my thighs. My
legs enjoy the ride. Umm… Umm.

Holding my craziness and me together forever whenever.

Compression…