A Family History Iv Poem by Morgan Michaels

'Just diabetes', he coughed.

'For how long'?

'A long time'.

'Can you describe the pain'?

'Un-huh- it hurts'.

'For how long'?

'A long time'.

The versatility of this answer, its unuseful economy, annoyed him. Donnie watched the girl from the corner of his eye, wondering if the reply's vagueness bothered her, too. It didn't seem to, though. The fellow shot her a look which seemed to say 'help'. He seemed to draw confidence from their connection. Was it just his imagination, wondered Donnie.

'Tell him where it hurts', she urged.

'Yeh', agreed Donnie. 'Here, for instance'?

With locked fingers he poked the area over the greater trochanter.

'No; , replied the youth, softly.

'Here'? asked Donnie, pressuring the acetabular rim. 'Move your hip. Up, that's it'.

But it didn't hurt there, either.

'and out, now, swing it out'.

He swung the leg out, but it didn't hurt there, either.

'Ok, pull these trousers down'.

He wanted to see if the muscles in back were atrophied, in any way.

The fellow unhitched his belt and slid the pants down over his legs.

They weren't, he decided, after careful inspection. The hips angled normally.

'Well, where the h- does it hurt', thought Donnie.

'Ok, pull up your pants'.