I am walking to lunch, jacket buttoned tight, sunglasses on
Contemplating who knows what because in a moment it’s
All swept away. I cross the street, I cross the sidewalk and I
Cut through the small hedge that lines the parking lot
Where my foot catches an exposed root and I have
A moment to realize I am falling and instinct takes over
Slapping the pavement as I hit. It’s still a hard fall, knocks
The wind out of me. I landed on my left side and in the
Pocket of my jacket is my small leather journal and it punches
Me just below the breast. I lay there for a long moment, then
Roll over and stand up. I’m unhurt, except for my pride and I
Bit of bruising on the chest and a scrap where my left palm
Slapped the onrushing pavement. I climb to my feet and sweep
The brown dirt from my arm, my knee, my thigh, my hair.
Lunch is a tiny little game hen, roasted squash
And scalloped potatoes with gouda.