When your bones are mangled
people try, they try to be so gentle,
but every movement hurts: such activity,
many many people talking all at once,
all of them in a foreign language.
Think, stay conscious, concentrate!
What … what happened? One minute
cruising along, iPod on the speakers,
last lesson coming up at this company
and then a ten-day break to follow.
Next thing Mister Death leans down,
skids you neatly into the oncoming lane
and lets you watch for a second or two:
you know exactly what’s going to happen
and not a damn thing you can do.
The guy who hit me was not a truck
I’m glad to say, and I’m also glad to say
he wasn’t hurt himself. His first question
as I dangled out the door, presumably dying,
was ‘Hey, dude, do you have insurance?’
I nodded. Bummer, I’ll be late for work.
I tried to lie down, just take a little nap,
when total strangers started slapping me
and behaving in a very impolite, a most
un-Japanese manner. Sirens, sirens …
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Apologies. I’m still trying to make sense of this thing.
I’ve been in hospital for the last six weeks
(which would explain the blessed silence).
In time, I’m told, everything will more or less work again
and there will be no permanent physical damage.
I’m not fishing for sympathy here – you’ll know that if you know me.
But I still cannot figure out what the hell happened!!
Being a Celt, no matter how many generations along,
I am only half-Christian and aware of the Other World.
I look upon this as a direct and painful warning.
I have been doing something seriously wrong in my life.
Apparently, I’ve been given one last chance to fix it.
