Cracked upper left rib*
tree-trimmin, makes my laughiing
Got tired of runnin’ into
that one too-big limb – it’s gone!
- (Clearing my brother-n-sister-in-law’s frontage roadside treelot now a double-decade old after not-really a hurricane irma hereabouts but windy enough, I got tired or running my glasses-clad face into this one persistent oak limb, about a good inch and more across. Everytime I tried a new route to the street through the longish but not-so-deep loodlot that limb would follow. I swear. And cussed. And so I took the too-small bypass lopers, gested one handle against the left side of my chest and brute-bullied the shearing tool through its final cut. And me. I averted using that side for moresuch work later, putting the fulcrum atop whichever shoulder seemed appropriate. Been near a week now. Still huts to cough – worse, to laugh. But I found a good wormplace to sleep which accommodates my squirms without sunder. This morning the tingle tells me to stay easy. Have a few noon beers. Salad. Fish. And, yes, dessert with full-force milk. Just takes time to tell a fool he’s no longer seventeen, you see. One day. Real. Soon. Now, maybe I’ll be promoted all the way past kindergarten and eighteen. Ya think? Nope? Thought so. Got a ‘nuther shoulder.)