The morning dawned clear, it was frosty and cold
But the sun was ablaze in the sky…
I was off to my son’s with my wet weather gear,
In the hope that I’d stay warm and dry.

‘Cause I thought I’d continue from where I’d left off,
With the jet-washing, weeding and stuff,
Wasn’t long, I was cold, wet and muddy again,
Pretty soon I had had quite enough.

But I just could not face yet another wet day,
So I thought that I should persevere.
It couldn’t take that long to finish the job,
Pretty soon I would have it all clear.

The optimist hopes where the pessimist sighs
And the realist laughs in their wake,
So half a day later, I’m nowhere near done,
And I’m really beginning to ache.

I can’t feel my hands or my feet very much,
Just a tingle that borders on pain,
So I’m dreading the moment they start to warm up
And will go back to feeling again…

I think that my brain must have frozen as well,
‘Cause I can’t have been thinking quite straight
When I took a step backwards and met with thin air
And just knew… but by then it’s too late…

You see, there’s a stream that runs under the deck,
And a big hole cut out so you see
Where the water runs deep, and within it are rocks…
And on top of the rocks there was me.

Now this hole is about coffin-sized, I suppose,
And I’d told them, “You can’t put that there…
Someone’s bound to fall in…” but they said, “It looks good!
Health and safety from you? Well, that’s rare…”

I am winded and wetter and sat in this hole,
I’d gone down with a hell of a crack,
With one foot underneath and the other upstream
And a rock in the small of my back.

So I checked all the bits to make sure they still worked,
And proceded to haul myself out,
While the robins who’d followed me round all the day
Wondered what this new game was about.

By now the day’s over, the night’s drawing in
And the garden is starting to freeze;
I thought I’d been clever with wearing the boots,
But the stream had just filled them with ease…

There isn’t a dry bit of clothing at all,
But I thought to myself, what the heck…
Tomorrow I may not be moving at all…*
So I got on and finished the deck.

With teeth all a-chatter and frozen to death,
I survey with relief the job done.
And just at that moment, my pocket vibrates
With a message that’s come from my son.

Now this is the son in whose garden I work,
He for whom I now shiver and freeze…
And the irony is that he’s sent me a pic
Of him swimming in tropical seas…**

A garden they tell you is good for your health
I’m afraid that I must disagree…
His garden may be a delight for my son,
But it seems set on murdering me!

* It is now tomorrow and I was right…
**Absolutely true…perfect comic timing…

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email:
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52 Responses to Irony…

  1. I always thought my husband was the klutziest person on earth, but honestly, I think you and he could comfortably compete. Except he did his on TV with cameras rolling and you merely write about yours online. Come to think about it, you are both stars.

    I do hope you are still in one piece!! I feel like I need pain relievers just thinking about falling in that hole.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sue Vincent says:

      I have managed a fair bit of idiocy over the years, it seems. This one was a ‘good’ one. To add insult to injury, once out of the hole, I had to kneel on the wet deck and fish the two stones out of the stream to stand them back up again. They are about two feet tall and heavy…

      Painkillers for breakfast…

      Liked by 2 people

      • Garry walked chest deep into the flooded Concord River. On TV. With everyone watching. including me, Owen — and pretty much everyone we knew. Owen and I were watching and I said to him “He’s going to walk into the river. I just know it.” Yup. He did. Some friendly fan gave him some dry clothing. It was March and I was hoping he wasn’t going to do a whole day reporting in sodden, icy clothing.

        Garry also broke his ankle falling out of a hammock. Not everyone can DO that you know.

        I do hope you feel better. Maybe you should … well … look more carefully before you go there? That’s what I keep telling Garry. “Sweetheart, look DOWN too!”


        • Sue Vincent says:

          I broke my ankle on the safety buffer on a trampoline… then fell off a bus on the way home from getting the cast off and broke it again… That was just before I fell off the platform shoes and broke it…. 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh, my love your poetry but I hurt just thinking about your fall.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ritu says:

    Oh my Sue!!! I hope you’re not too achey!
    Right. That’s it. I’m calling your sons!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. jenanita01 says:

    There has to be a way that these jobs can be done earlier, before the weather turns nasty!
    I haven’t managed it yet either… but I’m thinking of delegating to a younger family member…


  5. FlorenceT says:

    He needs to bring home some sunshine and warmth (hugs and kisses)… Hope you feel better soon! 😚


  6. Mary Smith says:

    Ouch and more ouch! I hope everything stays frozen long enough for you to be able to move again.


  7. Well done on the descriptive poem! Sorry you’re in pain…hope it passes soon. ♥


  8. Jane Risdon says:

    Really enjoyed this. You are clever, I have never been able to write poetry and admire those who can. You can. Fab. Hope your aches soon pass. xx


  9. Ha ha ha. Oh, the irony. What a wet, cold, miserable job and then to get that photo. Lol. You’re a heroic mom, Sue.


  10. Jennie says:

    Oh, no! Join the “Klutzy Klub”. It’s my curse. I hope you are only sore!


  11. Eliza Waters says:

    Oh, dear – I hope you are recovering from your mishap. I think maybe next year you might scrub the deck in September!


  12. Widdershins says:

    And you scold the small dog for getting all wet and muddy … do you suppose this is Dog Revenge? 😀 ** quickly looks around to make sure no dogs are watching**

    So glad to hear you escaped with chilled endy-bits and bruises.


  13. Oh no, you haven’t had much luck there at all! It must have hurt falling down that hole and being freezing. I saw the pic of Nick too swimming in the sea, as you say, perfect timing! 🙂


  14. Pingback: Writing Links 11/27/17 – Where Genres Collide

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