Cut Off At The Knees

Before the accident, I used to swim in the ocean.
Now, I look down, and where I once had knees, I see only ragged stumps.
The doctors say they’ll clean those up a little more for me.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Gone,” say the doctors.
“What have you done with them?” I asked.
“We have taken them,” say the doctors. “But we will bring you the ashes if you want to be buried with them someday.”
Instead, I will spread them over the ocean.
No sense in making them wait for the rest of me.
Let them be free.