Because we all want to write more poems.
Bruise
I smashed my finger
The middle finger
The flip-off finger that was left nameless
After Pointer and Pinky and Ring
Got all the good names
Anyway, I smashed that finger
— let's call it Clint,
"The Finger With No Name" —
Smashed it like a Talking Cricket
Gets smashed with a mallet
Except my finger — Clint —
Got smashed between a
Window sash that I was raising
And a thin strip of wood
Nestled into the curtain
So thin and seemingly harmless
That strip of wood but it
Felt like a dull machete blade
Crunching down on the fingernail
I hopped about grunting and wheezing
Until my kid asked if I wanted to
Swear which I very much did
But I didn't
That was three weeks ago
And Clint's nail —
Blood purple and visibly
Decomposing —
chips and flakes, snagging on
My pocket hem when I reach
For the keys
It fills me with dread
Like a loose tooth
When I was small
It must come off
It will come off
I hate to think of it
I cannot stop
And even now
The new nail grows in
Warped and scarred
Like a grizzled, old actor
Well past his glory years
But still in the fight
- Michael Mayhew's Shared Poems
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Comments
joshua mertz
June 2, 2015
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Warped and scarred...
I can see in my mind's eye The Girl calmly saying, "Daddy, would you like to swear?" "Heck yeah, kid! But gosharootie, I just can't say those darn things around you. Spzglbfgnard! That hurts!" Good flow, good ending, an artist literally suffering for his art.
joshua mertz
June 2, 2015
Permalink
poor Clint
I hope Clint is feeling better. Are both middle fingers named Clint? Is a personal name, each finger getting its own, or a taxonomic insertion into the linguistic pantheon of fingers: index clint ring pinkie? And how about the toes. I suggest we name them after piggies. As in market home roast beef none and wee wee wee.