Category: Pain

Progress

Two weeks in a splint.
Don’t touch the ground!
Don’t breathe on it!
It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Three weeks in a cast.
Don’t touch the ground!
Don’t scratch inside it!
The time will go by fast.

Four weeks in a boot.
Don’t touch the ground!
Don’t get it wet!
You’ve really learned to scoot.

One final week in the boot.
You may walk, if you please.
Please wash it!
You smell of old coot.

Ten weeks later,
It’s just a foot again.
(Still limping a bit.)


Verbal Tics

I am at an age where
I notice certain things.
I am at an age where
I notice annoying things.
Literally.

One of those this things
Infected a YouTube video
That my wife was watching.
I could literally hear the audio
Even though she was across the room.
Literally.

A lot of people have verbal tics.
They will literally say them
All the time.
It’s cringe-inducing.
Literally.

My tic is that I say “Um”.
I literally say “Um”
All the time.

I might even be saying “Um”
While I’m trying to write this,
But I promise I will edit them out.
Actually, I don’t type them,
I just hear them in my head.
Literally.

So, if I say “Um” to you,
It means my brain is working.
Perhaps.
People should just have a LED
On their forehead that says,
“Working.”
Literally.

Homework

I took accounting in college.
It was forty years ago.
Twice as long as Sgt. Pepper.
My knowledge has been fully depreciated.
(At least I remember some terms.)

Now, I have to take it again.
It is as brutal as I recalled.
Perhaps even more brutal,
Because the world discovered QuickBooks,
And our instructor has not.

I love accounting!
Said no one ever.
Well, except for
Some college friends,
Who are all now CPAs.

Perhaps CPA is a warning label,
Not a prestigious title.
People to avoid at parties.
Just sayin’.
(No offense to any CPAs.)

I remembered my CPA friends this week.
They seemed so normal back then.
This is to their credit.
Or perhaps to their debit.
Who the hell knows?

Parenthood

Can someone hold my child?
I am so completely enraged,
I probably should not
Be near him currently.

There is a wide, black trail of
Instant Coffee, running from
My kitchen to the bedroom.
Across my new white carpet.

My husband said he calls it,
“The Trail of Tears.”
Someone should hold him, too.
In case this becomes a rampage.

Deep breaths.
Deep, cleansing breaths.
Maybe a glass of Chardonnay.
It’s better now. Somewhat.

It’s just a very messy line.
It will all come out in the wash.
It’s not really grounds for murder.
It’s not even grounds for divorce.

Grounds.
He he he he.
I crack me up.
I better start cleaning.

Country Klutz

Just got paid,
Got a brand new car.
Time to grab my baby,
Head to the ER.

Gonna ask her Momma,
Have to ask my Dad,
“Do you think it’s broken?”
“‘Cause she’s limpin’ real bad.”

Time to get married,
Gonna get her a ring.
Just as soon as a doctor
Inspects that wasp sting.

Today’s at the orthopedist,
Hopping through the door.
I have a bad case of deja vu,
‘Cause we’ve been here before.

When she hears or sees an insect,
She’ll attempt a triple lutz.
She’s on the ground, whimpering.
I’m married to a klutz.

Vertigo

I wasn’t sure who I should call,
The fourth time that I hit the wall.

I laid there, staring at the valance,
Waiting to regain my balance.

My sense of balance really stunk,
Yet, for once, I wasn’t drunk.

The therapist said my crystals fell,
Off the rods my ears held so well.

(I knew eventually crystals would be an involved.)

My wife suspected that I had a stroke.
In the lonely night, just before I awoke.

But with a stroke, I wouldn’t only miss the bed.
With a stroke, I would have woke up dead.

So, a nautical lesson, as I slip.
One hand for me, one for the ship.

When I’m home, and not out sailing,
It’s time to go install some railing.

My grandkids’ and my worlds collide,
Because we both can slip and slide.

I just find it very wrong,
To be diagnosed with a U2 song.

(At least, I wasn’t diagnosed with Mysterious Ways.)