Here is another in the series of poems that I wrote whilst either standing at a bus stop, or engaged in a toilet activity.
A relatively short poem, this. Despite it's brevity, I think it describes everything that happened in a concise and informative way. And, although it lacks any symbolism or imagery, its sparseness indicates the loss to which I was at to explain the incident fully, and is remarkably reminiscent of the quirky style to which Mr Coleridge reverted shortly after his death.
I hope you like it.
I broke my hand
But I don't know how