Plunge On Hands Poem by Michael Witkowski

Stepping ahead to the entrance
of the place where i would soon
hit the keys-i noticed three persons
blocking the door - chatting away
merrily-
Caught drops of their natter-
...who's this odd man i often see....
Sure they meant somoene else, not me-
but then scare shot through
my eyes - my once favoured chatter
mate from italian course stood there

i could not would not face and greet him
answer his curiosity to my farewell state
and studies- tried to shun him -
dashing past him
to the door- but there i tripped up
somewhere- my heavy trekking boot
got caught in the dust crate- plunging
ahead - head first- to the rough stony
pebbled concrete pavement i stretched
out my hands for support on landing-like
a true goalie - avoid a head jump to the floor

I tore up bit of skin- a girl plunged to help me
immediately -
and the bloke i sought to shun asked
me if i was alright-
this time he did not greet me:
inner sigh pushed a demonic stone off my heart