The Intrinsic Weakness of Knees

Lying low and mysterious like tombs
Of bone, my knees invite glances of intrigued eyes
When in a game of truth (and dare), to the question
Of which body part in you would you want to replace
With an improved version, I say I’d like to have
Sturdier knees, and I’m immediately asked— for what?
For running marathons, I say, carefully avoiding letting fly
The possibilities of kneeling better at prayer or durability
While making love, all the while loathing my instinct
To say something odd or controversial in a public setting.
Here in the rockiest part of Karnataka, the walls turn hot
From the traversal of lizards, the floor lubricious
From the spilled alcohol of styrofoam cups we had
Earlier used to play beer pong, the little table-tennis balls
Floating and rising like amber night suns supplying faint
Light towards the inordinate whims of our hands and tongues.
From the kitchen a mutton curry aroma greasing the air thick,
Tantalizing for the tingly nerve that loves to lick, always alert
To the strong-scented, to release on-demand a dramatic sneeze.
Early morning, on a trek, before we reach the summit, a friend
Whose apparel e-commerce business has recently boomed
Tries to inspire— don’t let the fire of wanting to be recognized
Overpower the fire of wanting to do something special, he says.
My approving knees nod, quivering slow from the arduous climb.
Atop the hill, looking down, all around I see fields of snoozing
Rocks, scattered and watery in May’s shaky heat, eagles drawing
Close sometimes, soaring regal over this exhibition of knees.