Miles down,
by jutting ankle bone he reaches.
Retrieves the fallen peanut shell.
With smiling morning memories
of bathing in autonomy.
They have left on a shiny shopping spree,
and they smile too, at their well-earned freedom.
Home now, from the wars of the ward,
he has his ticket, his assurance.
The snakeskin of sickness is shed.
Crunch one more, such delicious.
Another shell he lets drop,
in amused clumsiness.
Spies it with new eyes,
and down he dives.
Ticket to ride
Aremyfeetofftheground 
I am eating peanuts for breakfast when you posted this. I am still laughing. The poem is great (and freeing)
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Peanuts for breakfast? Now I have heard everything.
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Try it. You’ll like it! (It’s the only time I can eat them in my office. The dogs are outside in the AM. Otherwise, they eat the shells.
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Good for a protein boost, I am guessing.
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Yup. And I swam a mile yesterday so I can use the boost!
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