He walked into a shop.
Later, he woke in a hospital bed.
“I’m not doing that again,” he said.
“You should have looked where you were going,”
said the nurse.
“I know,” he replied.
“Least you only have a small bump on your head,”
said the nurse. “You never died.”
A few weeks later, he fished for carp in a pond.
That led him to appear in court.
His crime: Caused a disturbance in the aquarium
in his local museum.
“What were you thinking?” asked the judge.
“It seemed the only place nearby
where I could try out my rod and line,”
was his excuse. Still, he held no grudge,
without need to budge, he paid his fine.
On his way home, he stepped in a puddle.
A few hours later, he woke in a hospital bed.
“What happened?” he asked,
hoping the answer would not further befuddle.
“You stepped in what you thought was a puddle,”
the doctor was swift to explain.
“But it was a manhole, full of foul water to the brim
after all that recent rain.
Vandals must have removed the lid,
dragged it under a bush, somewhere,
and there left it, hid,
leaving the manhole uncovered,
a danger to the public.
I know, makes you sick.
You fell in, almost drowned.
A good job you were found.
An elderly couple and two youths helped drag you out.
You will be all right soon, I have no doubt.”
Discharged from hospital, at the railway station,
he bumped into an old friend,
nearly knocked him down the escalator,
which would have brought his end.
“You hav’nt changed,” his friend informed him.
“You were the same at school.
Always was a fool.”
Back home in his house,
he sat in his arm chair,
wishing to keep quiet,
to outdo a mouse.
He looked at his television set,
radio and CD player,
and wondered what would happen
if he turned one of them on.
To be paranoid made him procrastinate, annoyed.
Still, he managed, though alone
and self known to be accident prone,
to sup his tea and nibble his scone.