Chris's February Tumble

Hello all

Sorry to be so long away from blogging. Perhaps you will excuse me if I tell you that it was partly because I broke my left ankle on leaving our Lincoln Apartments building at 6:00 AM on February 1 and falling on black ice down the front brick steps! Following are a few pics and several poems that I hope will make up for my absence. Among the snowfalls and other winter weather in January and February, we had one 5-inch snowfall that broke the branches of a white dogwood in front of the apartment building. Still, the winter weather in Baltimore has not been as severe as elsewhere in the U.S. midwest and northeast so we can count ourselves lucky -- all breaks and sprains, etc., notwithstanding!

Crutch

1.

Oh, crutch, you make me pay. How much
I lean on you! Perhaps next time, we'll go Dutch?

Oh, bishop's crozier, shepherd's crook,
how fashionable you make me look!

I raise you -- my dividing rod --
you part the crowds, O gift from God.

2.

I feel elegant
as Quasimodo,

but maybe better
than I ought to.

3.

Now my leg's in this damn cast,
the world of sudden seems vast.

I struggle everywhere by crutch;
even simple becomes too much.

Hobbling around is no hoot;
I crave to give the world a boot.

Not acrobatic Cirque-du-Soleil.
Far more sadly basic. Oy Vey!

4.

I pronounce my injury: ma blessure!
Announce it to everyone as if it's a blessing.

I whisper, "Fractured distal fibula -- left peg."
Folk, take pity on me and my throbbing leg.

But, unhappy, put-upon world, how you too ache!
I offer these impoverished thoughts for mankind's sake.

Christopher T. George







Chris after ice fall, Feb 2011. . . and the wounded dogwood!











Baltimore snow Jan 2011





Donna's purple flamingoes in the snow

Winter Breaks

I negotiate our brick front
steps on my crutch, notice
the blond ragged stubs
of the white dogwood, snapped

by the weight of January's
heavy snow, clear proof
that I am not the only
victim of winter, here where
I slid and crumpled down

the black-iced steps, splitting
my distal fibula like a twig.
Oh, dogwood, oh, soul-mate,
I'll miss your bridal blossoms
we lost in that thundersnow!

Christopher T. George

Getting Dopplered

My shin gored by the bull of winter,
left leg still blown up twice its size
where I fractured my distal fibula,
I go for a doppler to rule out DVT.

The gell freezing cold as the day I fell,
she says, "Usually we have it warm."
Great to hear! From my groin to my toes,
she thrusts the doppler probe

close to the family jewels.
"Ee-ooh!" I cry.
"I know!" she says.
"No! You don't!"

Christopher T. George