Noah's Midnight Blunder

Somewhere owls, quite preened and screechy,
Hooted something fierce and preachy.
Hailing down the night's dark shutter,
Not a wing would dare to flutter.

You see this night would hold in feature,
Pain and suff'ring for one creature
Thick enough to coast quite blindly
Down a street shaped quite unkindly.

And here before we've gone too far,
Allow me to unveil our star!
A lad of lank and wit and mettle,
Blithe and happy e'er to pedal.

This happy, handsome, playful youth
Would soon be howling "oh, forsooth"
And all because of his neglect
To light his lamps so they'd reflect

The dangers of impending tangle
With the concrete sure to mangle
Any who might dare have tried
With its surface to collide.

But lo, I grow too quickly pointed,
(My this story seems disjointed).
Let's go back to pre-dismemb'ring,
(It's germane to keen rememb'ring).

It was warm and slightly gusty,
Prompting girls to be quite busty.
Guys would follow in like manner,
Wearing tank tops to get tanner.

I, of course, enjoying Summer,
Bore my skin (a future bummer),
And rode my bike with boorish grin,
This combo forming my chagrin.

For as it's said through time and story,
Dumb and young leads not to glory,
Only to a painful humbling,
Typically involving tumbling.

So there it was, a lovely night,
And once again did I alight
Upon my French-constructed bike,
Named Jean-Françoise (I hope you like).

The two of us then did proceed,
To follow fellow rider's lead,
Up a hill and 'round a corner,
I took front and so did warn her,

Of all minor interruptions
Found in moonlit street's corruptions.
And all progressed so peachy keenly
If only curbs bit not so meanly.

For on that sloping avenue
There soon approached a change in view.
Where 27th meets with Lincoln
Drivers should refrain from blinkin'

For the street does take a bending
Rearranging traffic sending
mobiles 'round an aged arbor.
One predating old Pearl Harbor.

And yet that night, as luck would irk,
A hateful force was fast at work.
And blocked this hero's chestnut eyes
From seeing my most cruel demise.

The moonlight fell in dappled spray,
Illuminating most roadway,
Except for where that dratted Elm,
Took up the street (and smacked my helm).

For though I saw tree's shading rafter,
I viewed the street before and after.
And thus assuming all was fine,
Did steer in a diagonal line.

Now this, of course, was my undoing,
For in my quick perfunct'ry viewing
I didn't make a point to seek
If soonish turn be more oblique.

Which it was and naught could change it,
Oh, that I could rearrange it.
And thus in my assumed route,
Did quickly, harshly find it out.

I coasted smoothly through the night,
Looking not for launch or flight,
And yet then I was given both
(I WAS, I swear it, by my troth).

So my direction did perturb,
For *SMASH* my wheel did hit the curb,
And off I went into the dirt,
with curses for my sleeveless shirt.

But this whole flight did take some time,
And my, I'm sure it looked sublime.
I flew and twisted like a sack
And landed square upon my back.

Whereon I slid to grinding halt,
My skin now filled with fresh asphalt.
And silent bones then got much bolder,
For don't you know? I broke my shoulder.

My body's once so silent frame,
Began to scream from recent maim,
And off I went with help of friends,
To the ER for meds and mends.

My clavicle and scapula
Were blown to worthless crapula.
And I was forced by curb's stark fling
To spend some time inside a sling.

And yet in all this happenstance,
I was given special chance
To see just how much people loved me,
Even though that curb had shoved me.

So here I am, now nearly healed,
And most all scabs are dried and peeled,
The thought still running through my head,
"At least I didn't smash up dead!"

But more than my own safe recovery,
My great treasure and discovery,
Was what my fellow rider said,
Once she knew I wasn't dead:

"This may sound wrong and kind of brash,
(Who knows, it very well may be)
I'm kind of glad that he did crash...

...'Cause if not him, it would have been me."