Frostbite
The course through the wood?
You must be joking.
Shorter, it’s true – but
who might be lurking?
Crisp winter morning,
ideal for a jog.
Nearing a turning
I see there’s a fork.
Short pounding breath,
no time to dither:
the well-trodden path –
or go down the other?
Choose at the trail-split
the little-used turn.
Sensing my soles slip
I skid round the curve.
No footsteps to thaw
black ice on the track.
Quick ambulance call:
bad femoral break.
Plastered and sore,
here’s where the crunch is:
Frost wouldn’t fall
under the branches.
Picking the trunk route
as my first preference –
that would truly have
made all the difference.