To make room for future wounds

Three thousand kinks, cracks, and bumps
Three thousand things to trip on
Many kinds of scrapes, lumps, and bruises
Daily gathered then forgotten
Like photo graphs and ticket stubs
Before you pick them up again
Somehow worse to remember then
But
A slice today so bloody brilliant red
Is easier then to add
When realized it is just another
Seen through awful shiners
A cough and wheeze and raspy voice
Complains of turning bitter
But knows the blacks and blues
They fade
And colds - in time - get better