Accidents

No death wish, really

just

recurring casualties of

confidence

Body struck by blind spots—

broken bones

bruises

burns

Scrambling into objects,

people, emotions

Handling hot surfaces and

sharp edges

Falling, forcing, fainting

Oblivious to impending pain until

it pounces

(optimism as slow suicide,

perhaps?)

Gathering myself in the waiting room glare

I huddle with the rest of the unlucky

This time, a slick sidewalk—

thumb black with

creeping bruise

crooked wristbone

Dozens of eyes dart behind masks

nursing their own troubles while

the unspoken lurks

(after all)

in this very building

I read the news and dare not cough

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Written by MK Lochhead