Laurie Junkins
In Which I Explain Iambic Pentameter
to My Chiropractor

His blunt-tipped fingers probe
each pointed vertebra, thoracic
to lumbar, attuned to subluxation
as if reading a Braille guide to the spine.
Draped on the table like a sacrifice,
face to crinkly paper-covered leather,
I follow his musings on wine country,
jazz clubs, the potential for winning
a Ferrari on a Vegas boondoggle
until he pauses for a round of flexion-
distraction and our small talk turns
to poetry. His attempt to come up with
iambic pentameter, that partly-buried
artifact of high school English,
prods me to enthusiastic explanation
wherein I say “Elizabethan” and “da-DA”
until I suspect he’s not really listening
and my zygapophyseal joints crack
like meter, ten beats per line.