Left-Handed Poem

Cycling home in the rain last night
I hadn’t gone far when my little bike
seized up. A thumb-sized piece of wood
had ridden up and jammed real good
between the wheel and front mud guard.
The wheel just stopped. Though I tried hard
to pedal, momentum took me for a spin -
an elephant pivoting on a pin...

I sailed clean over my handlebars,
pin-wheeled into the road where trailing cars
honked and swerved and thundered past;
not going terrifically fast
but even so, it could have meant death.
I landed winded, out of breath,
and sat a while in mute surprise
on the cold pavement. I closed my eyes
and there, in a downpour, contemplated
the days I’d lived and loved and hated.
At my funeral, who’d attend
if this false start had been my end?

I realised you’d likely never learn
of my demise. Perhaps a mild concern
might disturb you for a week or two
but you’d find better things to do.
I felt, in that moment, profoundly alone,
picked up my bike and pushed it home.
My right hand smashed from when I landed,
tonight I write these lines left-handed.