Bloody hell, 
I bloody fell.
You should have heard me
bloody yell.
You should have seen it
bloody swell
(the ankle;
didn’t take things well).

Bloody bruise
with angry hues,
screams at me in
blacks and blues:
“Hey old man, you on the booze?
hate to name this breaking news:
you’re no stunt guy, you’re no Tom Cruise.
Get yourself some better shoes!”

From bloody sprawl
I try to call 
the wife
(who’s at an antiques mall).
I know she won’t pick up at all
to hear me swear and blame and bawl
that all the fault lay with the wall 
from which I fell 
(this was no ‘fall’).
No, don’t go saying that
at all.