WWF, Bengay, and Mortality

Its 3 am.
The light from the heating pad soothes the darkness;
the unmistakable scent of Bengay lingers.
Neck throbbing;
I wrestle with my own mortality.

Even since Josiah’s accident, the five of us wrestle;
yet this time was different.
From the floor in front of our huge leather sectional, I sit.
They come in waves.

Their moves are predictable:
the big boys recklessly use their bodies as projectiles;
the little boys lick, straddle, pretend to bite, and headbutt.
Good natured taunting is always expected,

yet this time was different.

They discovered the element of surprise.

Flying off the top turnbuckle (read ‘couch’ if need be),
Jaden managed to grab and twist my neck;
that was eight hours ago,
I'm getting old and grey.

I’m convinced that Bengay works much like

biting your tongue in order to ignore a stubbed toe.
Lather up and in just a few seconds your skin will be set ablaze.
It worked, I forgot all about my neck.
I'm cool with the grey, Janna thinks its sexy,

but since when did I ever use Bengay?

In just a few short years, maybe less than four, I’m likely doomed.
Should they coordinate their efforts, defeat is imminent.
No matter that I stand 6’4” and weigh a not so solid 245, I will fall.

At 3 am a smile broke my face

for I lay truly blessed, a man whose quiver is full.

Grace and Peace.