I knew it, I blew it,
but perhaps all is not lost, judging
from the lines on the bit that
doesn’t exist, (the lines are there,
just the bit is missing).

Triage is the next step,
weighing options, measuring
wounds, taking vitals and
writing everything on a big clippy-clip
board to be mulled over by the men
in my head with stained white
coats and thick-rimmed glasses.

What to do, if anything.