Pole Vaulting in My Junior Year in High School 

with a Broken Left Wrist

Photo: Marshfield News Herald

Falling

Doing a single flip,

Off the high board,

Landing face first,

Numb, an unfelt sword.

Raising one water ski up,

Skiing wildly on one ski.

My ski tip drops, catches water,

Catapulted, hit hard–numb, I be.

Standing on the cliff edge,

Given an unfriendly, stupid push,

Stark fear of jagged rocks below,

Grabbing edge, adrenaline rush.

Reaching for the sandpit,

My left hand doing it wrong,

A broken wrist the result,

Twenty-day cast wasn't long.

Thrown out of the rolling car,

Sweet grass and dirt in my face,

The car passed over me,

Surviving with stitches in knee.

Lying paralyzed in bed,

Afraid to go to sleep.

Falling backward into a spin,

Thoughts I couldn't keep.

On a slippery porch,

Rushing out, lost my feet.

Spine bumping each step,

My shoes on the street.

Stepped off the curb,

To a small patch of ice,

Heard the back of my head crack!

A home run sweet spot, not nice.

Skating at the rink,

My skates lost their grip.

Fell hard on my left elbow,

Felt my left bicep rip.

Reaching to put a suitcase,

In a carrier a top our car,

Fell to my right elbow,

Ripping my bicep without a scar.

Reaching to paint from the top step,

I fell backward over laurel 20 feet.

Landed on my back on a down slope,

Slid, flipped, and landed on my feet.

Caught my shoe heel,

On the top step metal edge, 

Broke my plastic ankle support,

Teetering on life's hedge.

Reaching for the rail,

On the top step, catching my breath.

Found myself teetering again,

But luckily, not fall to my death.

My briefcase in front of me,

My knee landing in place,

I pivoted over it rapidly,

Smashing concrete to my face.

Tripped on my carpet,

Flew headlong into the wall,

Left a concave sheetrock dent,

No broken neck in that fall.

With one step to go,

Into the carpet below,

A fractured eye orbit, 

Bloody headache for show.

After many falls and stitches,

I reconsidered my walk,

Got into a wheelchair, hoping,

Never, in fear, to balk. 

Still, caught on the brink,

Of a serious tip often,

My heavy wheelchair stopped,

Not becoming my coffin.

With rescuers nearby,

To save me once more,

How I got through all of that,

I can't believe anymore.

Copyright 2026 © Ronald W. Hull

9/24/26

You can read and print this poem at my website here.