Slip

The way he fell reminded me

of pastel ballerina’s stance,

disburdening their gravity

to lightly let them dance.

I pondered why we presuppose

collapse will cut a tragic shape –

his spine bent like a tuberose

and gently at the nape.

It happened, free from connotations

man assigns to most descent,

his posture like a fine quotation,

mien quite content.

Indeed, his silent grace made it

incongruous to represent

his dancer’s pose as counterfeit,

mere happy accident.

There thus remains uncertainty

on whether, drawn to moralise,

six stitches came to him or me

as more of a surprise.