found myself
on the floor last night
didn’t think
much of it, just
got back in bed and fell
back asleep
life can be funny that way
didn’t notice
the blood or the pain
until morning
funny that way
like noticing a great idea
hasn’t occurred to you yet
or a friend left last year
for Tierra del Fuego
without a blog or
a text or like Michael
Rockefeller disappearing
in New Guinea in 1961
they say he died there but
how would I know?
maybe he drowned or
they ate him or maybe
he’ll show up next year
at the Oscars or Burning
Man or the White House
or something
life can be funny that way
or like when you find out
your grandfather was
a bastard – no, not that way –
a nice guy, but just that
his parents weren’t really
his parents or something
and all of a sudden things
fall into place like why
he was always trying
to make up for something
and never seemed
to get there
funny that way
so now
I guess the docs will want
to wire me up and stick me
prod me and take a bunch
of readings and blood
to make sure I’m okay
or out of morbid curiosity
or so they can play
with their cool toys
or just to cover their asses
and when they’re done
they still won’t be able
to tell me how or why
I came to land
face first on the floor
in the first place
life can be funny that way
sure can be funny that way
James K. Zimmerman is an award-winning poet and Pushcart Prize nominee. His work appears in The Evansville Review, Confrontation, The Worcester Review, Atlanta Review, Nimrod, The Bellingham Review, Vallum, Kestrel, The Cape Rock, Oberon, and The MacGuffin, among others. He is the author of “Little Miracles” (Passager Books, 2015) and “Family Cookout” (Comstock, 2016), the winner of the Jessie Bryce Niles Chapbook Award from The Comstock Review. He can be contacted through his website.