Wicked Bad Day Poem

a number of mishaps occurred on a friday the thirteenth seventeen plus years ago.

August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine

forever etched in the annals of my personal infamy

as one still sending hair raising shivers down my spine

which following unpleasant details occurred on a street

that branched off kind of like a fork tine

   adjacent to one named woodbine.

prior to the following awful events
   that unfolded aforementioned day

somewhat solemn and gray

i did not consider myself unduly superstitious

   nor prone to bouts of triskaidekaphobia no how no way.
 
yet that particular Friday the thirteenth baptized me

in the bloody waters of superstition unequivocally

whence upon waking said particular morning

the search for funereal garb found me
   burrowing into a small closet   

   while bending on one knee, and nonchalantly rummaging
   for suitable article of clothing to wear

   per the wake of William Zison (the octogenarian father in law)
   an unbeknownst ill fate lurked just seconds away
   ready to cap cha an innocent prey
   as any unseen observer would agree.

 
hands rifled and rustled thru various and sundry
   miscellaneous items in one or another box

mostly clothing and other apparel draped in coat hangers

   plus a precariously perched heavy tin of yarn heavy as rocks

began to teeter from top ledge,
   than made a slow inexorable descent
   in direct path of thy crown containing valued mental stocks.

the topmost part of thine skull
   felt impact of sharp metallic rim

that left an indentation in soft part of scalp �"
   more’n an abrasive skim

and bent circular shape of contrivance filled to the hilt

   one law of physics pertaining to falling object (taught to me)
   acquires greater mass accelerating with velocity and vim.

upon reflexively yet tentatively touching raw sore spot

fingertips revealed presence of warm liquid
   soon coagulating into a pulpy gordian knot

from sharp lipped impact registering nausea
   and vertigo quite a lot

hence sewing crafts managed to stitch
   a tattooed laceration forming a bloody clot.

 

body writhed with physical torment

   as if being only partially alive

whereby waves of blacking or passing out found me swooning

   ready to take a swan dive

nonetheless from schwenksville
   to penn valley, I did (by divine grace) safely drive

whence family members and relatives
   once destination reached, the motley crue
   began organized car pool arrangements

   per heading off to the cemetery, which caravan formation  
   similar to a human bee hive, yours truly declined to go
   communicating persistent distress from mishap
   i bowed wowed out, stayed home
   and kept company with a dog (purportedly man’s best friend)

   (said pet belonging to a friend of eldest sister in law),
   whose open palmed overtures of mine did not jive.

an impulse found fingers reaching out
   to stroke this unfamiliar animal

   supposedly man’s best friend

only to find sharp teeth from canine jaw
   clamped down hard on hand

   which second bodily injury, i did immediately tend

while bolts of white hot pain
   shot thru lower extremity of palm

radiated upward through forearm into shoulder did wend.  

 

Author's Note

nope - no matter a series of unfortunate events elapsed on a particular day (august thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine) forever stitched in mum mind, i haint superstitious.