Wicked bad designed day

(alternately titled: courtesy Doctor Donald Dossey
who coined paraskevidekatriaphobia

August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine

forever etched in 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 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/
paraskevidekatriaphobia 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/

sitting shiva of William Zison
the octogenarian father in law)
an unbeknownst ill fate

lurked just seconds away
ready to captcha an innocent prey
as any unseen observer

and/or pet 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.