I was spat out from underneath a lawnmower
along with a small rock, which I looked at
as though I needed to see my neighbor's suffering to understand
that I too had been in the wrong place
at the wrong time.
The rock skipped along the ground onto which it was flung
with velocity and purpose, familiar with the flying.
Me, I'm not as used to the skip, I mostly tumble
gracelessly as a hamburger belly flop
until the grass grabs me, stops me, stop it, you're done.
I'll turn uneven eyebrows and slightly open mouth
backwards, dismay, look at my former now fragmented self.
Still quite eager to stand his ground.
Which he is now much closer to.
Permit one audible sigh.