It was the day of the fallen: Madonna and me.
Ageing rock goddess; unknown poet.
Random blip in time; no-one would know it.
She fell at “The Brits”, I saw on TV.
“Should she be doing this, at her age?”
But she controlled her pain, suppressed her rage,
stepped, calmly, back onto the stage.
There was drama in her fall, undoubtedly,
but I like to think, personally,
of the drama in the fall that happened to me.
My foot clipping the top of the kerb;
this simple act, enough to disturb
the whole ongoing mass of me.
Out of my element, floundering in air.
My big shopping bag, sailing in the air.
My bunch of silver keys, soaring in the air.
My overweight bulk, suspended in air.
Landing, on my side, so heavily.
Heavily, heavily, so heavily.
I landed, like a whale, so heavily.
Like a whale, a beached whale,
sore from lack of sea.
My Oxford English Dictionary has the following entry, under the definition of “kerb”: Do not confuse kerb with curb. Kerb means “the stone edging of a pavement”, while curb means “control or limit something” (she promised to curb her temper) or “a control or limit”. In American English, the spelling curb is used for all these senses.
So “kerb” and “curb” are homophones that the OED advises you not to confuse. When I had a bad fall, just over a week ago, incurred by simply crossing a road and tripping over the kerb, I suppose you could say I fused or confused the two words, for this particular kerb certainly put a “curb” on my on-going progress. Kerbs can be dangerous things, and should be approached with care and caution; take it as advice from one who knows!