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.

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