The party line states
my hip socket created
the problem almost from birth.
Its poor development was
the reason for
at six and thirty-one.
But that’s not really it.
What really happened was
not one at six at all.
I took off that year from school
indulging my blossoming
In the next twenty-some years
I continued to grow
in creativity and discontent
which I kept tightly bottled in.
Then in some mad angst
to assuage an old rebellion
that still wore my name upon it,
I found one outrageous motorcyclist
whose only intent for me
was to be an accomplice
in creating one hellacious ruckus.
My crutches then were the result of
our most raucous excursion ever.
© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers
Day 28 prompt: Write a ‘what really happened’ poem; details here from 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge
I’m glad I remembered this. I really did try using a variation of this explanation once. My youngest brother dimed me out when he saw that his friend believed me. Fun times!