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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

Written by MK Lochhead



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