In Which A Dragon Saves A Maiden

My elbows both engaged in mutiny,
From overuse of these computers, I
Must now resort to something new to me:
Some software that makes what I say to my
Machine, here, into typing. As I've said,
As many others have repeated, this,
Life in the future, rocks. From out my head
And through my voice, onto the page! I miss,
Sometimes, the errors that do creep into
The text this way, but editing is smart.
It's passing strange though, that I say "undo"
Instead of hitting backspace. How my heart
Is gladdened: now no longer is there pain
In pouring out what's in my heart and brain.

In Which I Am Slightly Handicapped

Some metal and some velcro form a case
Of fabric 'round my wrist which I dislike,
Though it's for my own good -- this I must face
Each time it hits the wrong key and a spike
Of rage appears within my cranky brain.
I've logged off in the midst of taking down
Important words, and unexpected pain
Has made me use the language on which frown
My overlords. But all could be much worse!
Naught's broken and the dominant's intact
(My left is caged; the right is free). I nurse
No grudges, though it's true I oft react
As though I did. I simply must wait for
These tissues to heal up, and nothing more.

In Which Some Mud Gets The Better Of Me

It rained last night, but that was long ago,

And there was little mud left I could see,

So while a certain wariness, I know

And in which I engage, is needed, the

Small lake within the tunnel did surprise

Me just a bit, but that was nothing to

What waited at its end, just where a rise

Begins, with a sharp curve to pedal through.

A sharp turn means my bike and I must lean

A bit; and just there where I did so, there lay

A mud slick. Ere I knew, my bike slid clean

Out from beneath me, yet, to my dismay

Still landed on me. Glad I broke its fall,

But now I hurt all over, overall.

In Which I Fall Again And Again

Ere dawn and crossing a dark parking lot,

On Sunday morn, most gingerly I stepped,

On packed down snow and ice I saw -- I've got

A good idea of where that is; have kept

From slipping all this winter, save last week

On Friday when I landed on my bum

In that snowbank before my car. A squeak

Of shoe on ice and I was down, but, numb

I rued it and moved on. But then came this

New incident: a damp sidewalk before

The entrance fooled me and ere I could hiss

Or scream, right down I went, right by the door.

My shoulder took the weight, then took a twist

As, trying to get up, up's what I missed.

Wishing I Could Do More, I Write A Sonnet

My mother looks as though she fought ten rounds -
The pavement bopped her worse than could Ali.
She's healing but a bruise nearly surrounds
Her mouth, all due to my wicked Collie,
Who took her down like those sneaky X-Wings
Did the Imperial Walker there on Hoth.
She shrugs and keeps on helping pack my things,
For nothing but some love and jam and broth.
A continent away, un hombre por
Quien mi terneza acrecenta
Is down and ill with flu; I can no more
Cure him than I can wipe out all of the
Wounds on my mother's face. All I can say
To either is, te quiero, every day.

I Do Not Beat My Mom, But I Don't Turn Down Her Offers Of Assistance Either

Like Coraline, I found a secret drawer
While starting to pack up my kitchen gear.
I have a turkey lacing kit? What's more,
A blender part and more spoons did appear!
Oh, moving house is ever so much fun,
Especially when one works by oneself.
In candour I've become nearly undone,
Since ne'er did I find magic packing elf.
So to my rescue came my own dear Mom
To help me keep on track and pack more smart.
Alas, before one hour had passed her palm
And face and knee and pride, but not her heart
Were torn and bleeding. Yes, she took a spill
On ice and asphalt. Yet she helps me still!