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I stubbed my toe ...

  (I do this a lot since turning fifty-five,
   when everything I picked up to read began going to
   arm's length in order to be visible,
   and "readers" became a permanent style change -
   I see things in the lower part of my
   vision through wire-rimmed lenses that ride low
   on my nose, and the mid-to-upper
   views are naked eye, hence my feet are nearer
   to objects than they seem,
   and my podiatrical digits pay the price)

 ... and though this particular piggy-pounding
was as intensely painful and bloody as any of the myriad
bashings that preceded it, and while the air around me
reverberated just as rhythmically as it ever had with
streams of well-placed and frustration-relieving profanity,
and though my fists pounded just as relentlessly against
my thighs in anguish as they ever had before, (the purple/
black damage there to be tended to at a later date), and
while my face grew as contorted and red as was humanly
possible, THIS specific stubbing, was entirely different ...

 ... for when the aforementioned processes had run their
rather ugly (and noisy) courses, THIS time I smiled,
reached for my sublimely-timed Frozen Blue Margarita,
raised it to the direction of the accident itself, offered
a heartfelt blessing to that marvelous twilight air, and
TOASTED the very object I had stubbed it on ... a tree.
But you see, THIS tree was surrounded by cool, white
quartz sand, was near a lagoon that shimmered with the
colors of a peacock, and was festooned quite wonderfully
and perfectly and tropically, with PALMS ...

 ... battered toes ... be damned! ;-)

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