Part I: my twisted ankle & busted heart, which hurt worse?

brandychanning Poems

some factoids re me: I live in LA (Cali). I like to jog, to stay fit, bonus is that got great killer long legs, another smoke smothering reason to run my **** off now the big secret! am only human, au courant, single, in bested~ busted, heart recovery mode, looking for a rebound takeaway, and “really cautious” ain’t a word in my vocab (just a little version) borm elemental stuff don’t! mock, critique, hell, don’t even speak, a romantic idiot believes that love is impossibly hard to uncover, ergo, grab it like when you smell it close by, yum, like warm oven fresh brioche bread Anyway, (set the scene, my momma sez) love to endorphin~run by water, Palisades Park, my haunt, run along Ocean Avenue, breathtaking panoramic views of Santa Monica Bay from atop the sandstone bluffs believe it, my eyes drift upward, checking out the scenery, checking out the scene, writing/ singing/ watch feedbacking my reality, check, check, and checking as well, the competition , the lionesses, and the lions eyes up, toe down, slight irregular sidewalk jutting, me tumbling, scratches,multicolored bruises in many places surely to follow in the shortly thereafter, but my ankle is screaming at me, clearly more upsetting than a typical normative, upsetting upset regretting eyes closed, combo of brilliant sun, + pain waves rendering me semi-blinded, hearing functioning, voice saying, let me please, let us take a quick 👀 he had me at the *us,^ now acting cool, overlooking him over, easy, but required me to overlook as well my twisted agoniste (ageoniste: A muscle that is controlled by the action of an antagonist with which it is paired (paired!!!) still groan whimpering, tres tres embarrassing and hopefully endearing, hearing this: “Hi! it’s Michael, need an ambulance at this location, probably just a twisted ankle, assorted contusions, possible concussion, needs a full set of x-rays.. Ok. Who has an ambulance service on speed dial on and on the story gies, flows, cries and finally cracks: this dark tan slim man is an ER doc, who picks packs pecks me up, but wont tell me his last name or why he only smiles so sadly somewhere on the way he says: cant stay with you but you’ll be all fixed up and soon be better, and when your running always be looking ahead five, maybe ten feet I do the most unpredictable unlikely ridiculous thing I’ve ever done: weeping don’t leave me, repeatedly repeatedly, and he renders tender with its just a fender ****** and you will most excellently recover somewhere on the ride I believe he quiet cautiously whispers you’re beautiful and lovely but I dare not no longer allows himself to get involved with patients, it always end badly a year later, wrote my next poem