Playing tennis for the first time in four months
and running backwards, I tripped over something,
fell on my bum. No doubt funny for some
to see but the bolt of electricity
that shot up my spine made me roll to one side
and back to the other trying to flee the pain.
And then lie still. End of game.

Quickly the other players gathered round
to chip in advice and serve as needed.
One lady even made tentative ground
strokes but due to the crush receded.
For a moment there, through the stand of shins
(and some attractive calves),  I saw
a strange sour-faced old wizened guy waiting
apart at the back of the court.

At last I winced and groaned to my feet,
drove slowly, painfully home;
full length on the sofa gives some relief
but blowing my nose, a cough or sneeze
electocutes my frame.
I roll from the sofa on to my knees
and pray he's punished for being to blame.

Is this the future? A damaged spine?
Or just a foretaste of old age?
Never again the stairs two at a time.
Just bitter helpless rage.
I want to go back to before I fell.
I swear and curse him every day.
It's all that bastard's fault. What the hell
was he doing with a scythe there anyway ?