Tuesday, August 02, 2016

5-Bar Gait


Gingerly climbing the decrepit gate
it creaks then shudders, and
I bark my shin
before tumbling
into sun-baked tractor ruts.
Revealed,
the angry crimson slice
smarts keenly below my knee,
so I dab copious globules of spittle
onto the glistening wound.
Glancing through the hedge,
a similar shoe to mine
mouth agape, smiles back,
then and only then
do I see the funny side of this
ungainly fiasco.


© Graham Sherwood 08/2016

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