Close Call

Well, it's not only about photography... this is a true story, for what it's worth...
.
.
.........Close Call
.
I had left the big heavy red crowbar
Lying a little too close
To where I was digging
With the pick-axe
Trying to excavate
The massive cement slabs
Which the idiot previous owners
Of this house had partially buried
Around the edge of the sand filled pit
In the back yard
That served god only knows what
Incomprehensible purpose for them
They didn’t have any more kids at home
When they built it
.
These days all the neighborhood cats
Ours included
Were using it for their shitting ground
And pissing palace
Midnight meowing and howling ring
And we’d had about enough of that
.
So there I was
Swinging that damn pick-axe
For all I was worth
Starting to sweat in the cool October air
Plowing through sand
And the packed dirt below
Cursing at tree roots and buried rocks
Waiting to hear the knock
Of iron axe on wood
If I hit one of the coffins
That must be there somewhere
Or the chest of buried gold
When my hard swung axe
Collided with the end of the crowbar
That was hanging over the edge
Of the mystery pit
Launching it into the air
With a resounding clang
At a terrific velocity
End over end
.
I actually heard it whistling
In slow motion
Right past my right ear
Aware of a red blur
Streaking by my eye
As it rocketed upward
Into the tree branches above me
.
I heard it slashing through leaves
Like a helicopter rotor blade
Like a machete
Wielded by King Kong
And then it fell
Harmlessly in a shrub
Bounced back down to earth
Hardly was airborne
More than a few seconds
.
I was naturally a little shaken
Couldn’t believe it in fact
In a state of denial
I mean the damn thing
Could have killed me
And who would have believed it
A crowbar for crying out loud
What are the chances
Of that happening ?
.
And how embarrassing
It would have been
To have to have been taken
To the hospital
With a crowbar
Sticking out of my ear
Better to be dead than alive
In that case
Or if it had just struck
A glancing blow
Enough to open up
A gaping bloody wound
Needing forty stitches to close it
How do you explain that
To the emergency room nurse
And how would my wife have felt
If she had found me there
On my back with a crowbar
Sticking out my mouth in the air
A somewhat surprised look
On my glazed over eyes ?
.
How many people are victims
Of launched tool accidents
Every year anyway
Flying crowbars clawhammers
Nail-guns chainsaws and whatnot ?
.
I got off very easy this time
Feel like I won the lottery in fact
Another millimeter
One way or the other
Could have programmed
Another trajectory
Another ending
That is what you could call
A very close call
And it will teach me
Not to leave that big red crowbar
Lying just any old place
The next time
I’m out raising hell
In the backyard
.
.