He heard me scream, I heard him curse,
I lay there thinking, ‘Could be worse’,
My dripping son looked pale and white…
I guess I must have looked a sight
Laid out upon his kitchen floor
Beneath the broken cupboard door.
I’d climbed, you see, to reach the shelf…
My stature will not stretch itself
To reach so high without a boost,
So, like a pigeon gone to roost,
Precarious, I’d perched on high…
And, found that like a bird, I fly.
The chair upon whose seat I stood
Had wheels… and it’s all well and good
To wedge the thing against the wall,
Preventing any risk of fall
By clinging to the cupboard door…
If it’s not screwed on anymore.
The chair slid out, I grasped and clung,
And from my perch was soundly flung,
The door still held within my hand
And wondering on what I’d land.
I soon found out, as head and back
Hit bottom with resounding thwack.
I lay there hoping it would prove
A possibility to move,
My son appeared, a hasty drape
And shampoo dripping down his nape,
He’d heard me crash with awful power
Despite radio and shower.
“I thought the wall had fallen down!”
Said he, with such a worried frown.
“You should not climb when I’m not there
To hold the ruddy kitchen chair!”
All my expletives stayed unspoken
While I checked if bones were broken.
Now, hobbits may not bounce, it’s true,
But though I may be black and blue,
And several rainbow colours more,
The only breakage was the door.
So, telling me to stay put, seated,
Towel-draped, my son retreated.
Maybe half an hour after,
From my son the sound of laughter…
Me, I’m perched upon the stool
Equipped with filler-gun and tool.
For once I’d got up from the floor
I’d thought I should rehang the door…
My son, with twisted humour thought
A hobbit of my age-group ought,
After a fall from such a height
To give up after such a fright…
But, knowing that I’d ache next day,
I’d get the job out of the way.
Now night draws in, it’s getting late,
A hobbit with a zombie gait
Whose multicoloured skin is sore,
Whose head’s not working anymore,
In need of Epsom Salted bath
Is aching way too much to laugh.
Too many bits had hit the deck
And I’ll admit, I feel a wreck.
The lesson’s clear, so here’s the deal…
Please, never stand on chairs with wheels.
And, for myself, a moral found…
There are much better ways to ‘ground’.