Because of my near tragic antic
As I looked back I started to panic
Thinking more, tried not to be frantic
But it’s over now, so all is semantics.
I was sweeping the floor
A tiresome chore
When leaning too far
Set my wheelchair ajar.
Suddenly finding my butt in midair
Dropped the utensils and grabbed for the chair
Dust in the pan started to fly
Broom handle barely missed my eye
But saved myself from an accident
Legs started shaking in repent.
As I sat back and started to ponder
I could have been hurt, and wondered
How stupid to not feel I was slipping
Chores are no reason for a mind to be tripping
I just leaned too far, won’t do it again
Of course I probably will, is it my zen?
Reminded me of a similar time
When my safety was not on my mind
Resulted in an overturn flip
Ended up with a hospital trip.
Hospitals, oh I could write a book
They place you in a little nook
Tubes and lines up to you they hook
Forget about how horrid you look
Of course they seem to mean well
Handsome doctors are quite swell
Privacy is another issue
If in the restroom you need tissue
And then there’s the worst I dread
The devil-made hospital bed!
Plastic coated mattress from hell
Unusual humps, with uncomfortable swells
And don’t forget those monitor beeps
Going off when you’re trying to sleep
I finally learned how to fix it myself
Bed fixed so can’t reach anything on the shelf
Constant blood draws, tubes here and there
And the opened clothing they make you wear
Guess you surmise by this report
Not going back, I’d rather be morte!