An Ode to a Smashed Face.

An extended weekend in the mountains for creativity was the original project.

But got detoured very early when I smashed my face into an immovable object.

As I exited a local Dollar General for some weekend supplies I tripped.

It was an epic fall, not an icy slip,

One that replays in my brain like a ½ hour skit.

The actual fall was probably no more than 3 seconds

Yet the aftermath replays in my mind longer than the actual errand.

I walked to a sliding door and it opens.

I step through said sliding door, and then it happens.

The lip on the strip of the sliding door track

Grabs the toe of my shoe in attack.

I step and then stumble, crash on to my knees

Trying to regain balance with no sense of dignity.

In my descent I see what’s going to stop my fall,

An eight inch cement post, coming right at my maw.

Stars, I see stars and they’re not the ones in the sky.

My first response wasn’t why, why, why.

My immediate concern was where are my glasses, did I break my glasses?

I shout out to the masses and then came the asses.

The townies surround me expressing concern and alarm

“You can sue them, you know, they have caused you great harm.

Don’t try to get up, let us call you an ambulance.

You have a lawsuit right here, this isn’t their first instance.”

And still I don’t have my blasted glasses.

This weekend excursion was time set aside to read and to write

Without my glass eyes I’ll do neither without sight.

I know they mean well and really do care,

But my glasses, you asses, I need to know where.

A young teenage girl, says “I have them right here, they’re not even broken

But your nose, and your face looks not so good”, said she very plainspoken.

Her companion, her mother, she announced to me as she came very near,

“Really, my dear, let me help you, would you like to sit in my car, its right over here”.

Flashes of Annie Wilkes like a scene out of “Misery”

Raced through my brain as I tried to ignore her enquiry.

“Really, I’m fine, I appreciate your concern and attention

I’ll help myself up” I said with growing apprehension.

The store manager, an anxious young, man brings to me a chair

From which I hoist myself up with little flash or flair.

The anxious young man asks for my personal information,

Like an auto accident, he fears there’s potential litigation.

I hand him my license, it’s easier for him to copy it all down.

I begin to wonder why I even thought to visit this mountain town.

All I’m quite sure of now is I gotta get out of this place,

Gather my companion and I to depart in much haste.

Soon a shiner of a colorful spectrum has blossomed on my right eye

My nose and cheekbone indicate more bruising is nigh.

There are no loose teeth and with ice packs my dignity begins to return.

The journey of this weekend should commence with a lot less churn.

Phone calls were made to alert loved ones and friends the condition of my face.

All’s well that ends well, I’ve made time to write this in humor if not grace.

The Smashed Face.