No Matter

The cocktail is kicking in.

A rarity for me, it seemed

A luxury to balance the

Fall I took teasing my way

Down hill, carefully but not,

It seems, carefully enough.

No matter. A little bruising,

But no break, cushioned by

A more than ample ass,

Though I suspect I’ll feel it

Tomorrow up and down

My spine, in my shoulder

And my wrist and the cut

At the base of my palm—

Right hand, naturally.

What matter, though?

I have been visited by

A hummingbird and a

Chickadee as my system

Stewed on vodka, and

A man I do not know

Yelled “Beautiful house”

As he tootled toward

The seventeenth tee.

“Thank you,” I yelled

And meant it. No matter.

Save that I am lucky

To have always had the

Ground to break my fall

But not break me, the

Good sense to understand

That luck has taken longer

To accrue, and when muscle

And bone awake stiffened

From the immobility of sleep,

No matter: Sunday is balm

For the Monday to come,

Every hour defiance of the

Downward draw of gravity.

6/8/2024 - 7/6/2024