We set out along the shore, on the seawall, and haven’t been gone more than half an hour when a patch of slippery pavement trips us up. I hear a yelp and turn to see my wife facedown in a slimy slick. When I go to help her up, down I go. Walking home, discussing what clinic to go to for her wrist, which has begun to swell, blush, and hurt, I realize my phone is missing.

crashing waves
the spray goes here
and there

The phone must have slipped out of my coat pocket when I fell or after I had taken a photo of a starfish earlier. I racewalk back and forth between the slick and the starfish, stopping everyone I see to ask if they have seen my phone. No luck. I search through the rocks shoring up the seawall. Nothing. I call my phone on my wife’s phone, but since I rarely have the volume on, that’s a waste of time.

silence
the wind whispers
nothing

After a couple hours at a private clinic, we’re sent to the public hospital, where the wrist is classified as a “yellow” emergency, meaning an hour wait. But, things move quickly even if it is two hours before we finally exit into overcast skies and steady rain, my wife’s forearm and wrist in a cast. Meanwhile, someone has found our phone and chosen not to call us and return to owner. We trace it as it moves about town, apparently to one shop after another to see if it can be unlocked, and decide to erase the contents and count our losses.

sunset
the starfish no longer
in its puddle

Later, telling our woes to our son and transforming bad luck into an anecdote, we have to admit that it’s not been a great day, but it’s not over yet.

thinning clouds
one twinkle and then
another

Bio: Bob Lucky