Dounk! went the shoulder,
snap went the hip,
stepped to the side – “Yep!” took a trip.
The floor didn’t give,
was hard as a rock,
– pain it was awful – went intah’ shock.
I thought of my Pappy,
he used to say
when you’re in a big hurt just Stove Up and pray.
Still sprawled on the floor
when the EMTs came –
they moved me – I threw up and passed out in pain.
I woke in a haze,
was asked how ‘ah feel,
“I feel sorta’ happy – this can’t be real.”
Then a few minutes later
the drugs all wore off,
realities back -“… even hurts when I cough.”
The docs fixed me up,
with pins and with screws,
– just laid there in bed like yesterday’s news.
“I can’t move my leg –
my shoulder – it’s sore,
I wanna go home, don’t want anymore
of this medical care,
it’s costing a ton,
and I lay crooked in bed – with a big, bulbous bun.”
So finally go home,
recovery starts
with a physical terrorist named Big Burly Bart.
He stands 6 foot 8,
and with huge, hairy hands
grabs a leg and a bun and says time to stand.
There’s groanin’ and moanin’
but nobody cares,
I’m just a twinky and Big Barts the bear.
The weeks slowly pass,
it’s finally all over,
it’s all back to normal – just movin’ slower.
But here’s my mistake
and a really big tip –
at the Seven Eleven – don’t be clumsy and trip.
(The Random Poet:082317 – rvsd 020723)
www.therandompoet.com)