Oh, crutch, you make me pay. How much
I lean on you! Perhaps next time, we'll go Dutch?
Oh, bishop's crozier, shepherd's crook,
how fashionable you make me look!
Oh, divining rod! To help my broken leg -- my gift from God!
Crutch, I use you to part crowds. Please don't think it odd.
I pronounce my injury: ma blessure!
Announce it to everyone as if it's a blessing.
I whisper, "Fractured distal fibula -- left peg."
Folk, take pity on me and my throbbing leg.
But, unhappy, put-upon world, how you too ache!
I offer these impoverished thoughts for mankind's sake.
Accept these words. I've nothing else to give. You see,
I am but a poor wordsmith. And they do come free!
Christopher T. George