Klutz-Afflicted

Everyone knows those poor
unfortunates who cannot seem 
to walk a straight line. If there is
a protrusion, a sharp corner, their 
soft body parts seem to signal
collision-time. Their sharp intake
of breathy disbelief, their briefly
shrieked agony of pain, transfix us
with pity. They are not careless, but
somehow heedless, bruised and
battered by haste and inattention.
Their ruinous stumble through life
takes its toll on their bodies, but
as well on whatever they touch,
be it an antique vase of irreplaceable
beauty or a rude everyday dinner
plate, each shatters beyond repair.
These hapless creatures simply
forge their way, stumbling and
fumbling infuriatingly. I have closely
observed, though I cannot foretell
when they will next commit a
self-abuse, for I am on intimately
familiar terms with such a one
myself being sorely afflicted.