Sensually Assaulted

5–7 minutes

They rolled me into the E.R.
All scraped, bleeding, and contused.
The doctor in attendance there –
Not professionally amused –
While on red and purple blotches
Worked the damage to erase,
Asked of me, “In that bar fight, man,
Did a shovel kiss your face?”

“Was not a bar fight, Doc,” I said,
“But a first date that went bad.”
“Aw, geeze!” the doc then queried me,
“How’d the lady get that mad?
And just what kind of knife was it
That she jabbed into your chest?
These burns here would be third degree
If you had not worn this vest.”

While doc cleaned and sutured me and
Excised burger-mangled flesh,
I thought I’d best explain to him
While the memory was fresh –
“Doc,” I said, “we’d no tête-à-tête
Or a lovers’ evening meal.
I’d best tell this tale from the start
Lest you think me but a heel.”

“It was on ‘The Bashful’ web site
That I met this stunning lass.
With Astrophysics PhD
She’s a MENSA gal with class.
If there’s a single fault she has –
Well, she’s terminally shy.
That’s okay we at once agreed,
Because, frankly, so am I.

“She thought me, I think, quite handsome
And my pedigree tip-top.
I’ve PHDs from MIT,
On many nights we sweet talk shop.
I run some, every other day;
Hit the gym on all the rest.
I may not be a movie star.
But I am with good looks blessed.

“With ginger hair and warm green eyes
Nestled in a flawless face,
You know that in a fashion mag
She’d be in the perfect place.
In my view, she’s a centerfold
With astounding sex appeal.
There was that swimsuit snap she shared –
Well, for me, that sealed the deal.

“We’re, both you see, shy, quiet types
So best suited to date night
Would be a place with five-star food
And an ambiance just right.
We allowed it would be crowded,
But quiet and somewhere that
Two brainy bashful lovers could
Sit to safely dine and chat.

“Charles, our polished maître d
Took me early to our table,
Where I sipped wine to calm my nerves
As much as I was able.
She’d worn an open bodice gown
And as Charles brought her in,
The room fell deathly silent and
My head began to spin.

“Her online presence fell so short
Of how grandly she’s endowed,
When Charles pulled her chair to seat her
‘Midst the early evening crowd,
My shoe caught fast on some unknown
As I rose – a man possessed,
Off balance, I then fell face-first,
Jammed my nose into her chest.

“At first I stood quite happily
With my face imprisoned there,
But soon so snugly quartered, I
Spun away to search for air.
A nearby Bananas Foster
Its flambé as yet unblazed
Begged me wrap my arms around it
While the crowd in horror gazed.

“The waiter’s spark set off the booze
At that table set for four
Which then with its banana pyre
I rode straight down to the floor.
The diners stood aghast and shocked,
The waiter numbly hovered;
All watched my Bourboned vest catch fire
By then banana covered.

“We’re trained, you know, to drop and roll
But I hoped the night to fix.
I tried once more – a sacrifice –
An empty table set for six.
I thought I had a safe handhold
And the process I’d then ace,
But it rained those six place settings
Mostly bouncing off my face.

“Charles bent to help me up; too late
Saw the error of his ways.
We downed two unwary servers
And their fully loaded trays.
The third time since my face disgrace
I lay sprawled upon the floor.
Somehow, I made it to my feet
And kept coming back for more.

“I found yet another table
Where a server steeled his blade.
The gaping wound you just stitched up
Was the hole his carver made.
The best part of his just-honed edge
At my ribcage rudely slashed
Just I, stemware, and china
To the floor quite loudly crashed.

“I got myself up off the floor
By crashing a dessert cart,
Then backed against a glassy wall
Of exotic fish as art.
My vest flambe then five alarm
Suddenly, acutely mattered.
While flinging arms to scrape off flames,
That wall my elbow shattered.

“A warm tidal wave of water
Swept me from the grand salon,
Face first into a vintner’s wall
Which fell, and me landed on,
Leaving me to pick at splinters
But subconsciously at best.
As I passed out, the ebbing tide
Nicely doused my flambe vest.

“Came-to bleeding on a gurney,
Where I thought myself secure.
Inside the van, the EMTs
Thought they’d latched the door for sure.
The van then lurched to speed away,
And the back door opened wide.
My bad luck remained unbroken
Thus, it ended my short ride:

“The van’s quick acceleration
Broke loose all the gurney straps;
Gurney wheels snagged and tightly held,
I thought my luck changed, perhaps.
My bed rolled free to my chagrin,
And I, less gurney, smartly tossed
To bounce across the asphalt street,
Where pedestrians once crossed.

“The driver then was on the ball
Standing hard upon his brake.
I settled in against the curb
While he corrected his mistake.
He smartly then reversed his gear,
And backward the van made fly.
Sadly, he overshot his mark
Parking squarely on my thigh.

“A police car then pulled in close –
Where it effortlessly curbed,
While I, pinned to that asphalt bed
Wished to be left undisturbed.
The police didn’t see me there,
Until much too-late later.
I went unconscious staring up
At cop car radiator.”

“Good Lord,” said the Doc, closing up
One wee last laceration,
While nurses snuffled snickers ‘neath
Nightengale concentration.
“I see just how your face thus stuffed
In an awkward spot of bliss
Would be more than disconcerting,
But that caused all of this?”

“While not unpleasant captured there,
Rather comfy, I’ll confess,
Each misstep birthed another one
Which then deepened my distress.
Each time I tried for a handhold
My selection wasn’t great.
Each choice I made left me to ride”
As hellbound freight train freight.”

Finishing-up the doc began
His prognosis to explain,
“Some wounds, despite my efforts here,
For some weeks will cause you pain.
You’re in ‘Post Trauma’ overnight
So the staff here can observe.
Interns will visit while you’re here;
‘Cause it speeds their learning curve.”

Now while I can’t quite remember,
It’s my hope that no one there
Trained cellphones on my escapade
My calamity to share.
I’d rather not my performance
After being once YouTubed,
Embarrassed me for folks to learn
That quite simply, I’d been boobed.

—

© 2023 spwilcenski
spwilcenwrites, “Poetry” in “Fiction”
exposed by spwilcenwrites “Recent Poemetric Work – September 30, 2023”