“Nothing Like An Overwrapped Thumb!” Tanka 2352


(May 28, 2019)

that unseen glass piece

sliced deep and easy near bone

did the first aid bit

cussing ‘do it tomorrow’

investment in my stupid*

*(Dropped – okay it was slippery with just-added olive-oil component – ready-mix vinaigrette – onto an empty five-gallon pickle jar set beside the refrigerator floorwardly, freshly cleaned and ready to house sun-tea of one of several varieties and the dillpickle sarcophagus shattered. Rather than stop, burn electricity on a light, I foot-shoved – yes! ’twas bare-toed in beach sandals! First tempt! – and placed in the salad dressing as I extracted the eve’s first beer. Then, the next eve I decided valor would not wait for sense and started an oh-dark-thirty pick-up pieces and scored a thumb-in-one on my first reach. More cussing ensued. I was wearing a clean white teeshirt and it became impromptu Stephen Crane device until I located the cloth sports tape instead of looking for the first-, second- third- and last-aid boxes. off in a dust-trap I call the cookbook readingroom shelf. Took tormented digit to a waterworks and scrubbed with a brush, debriding all-the-while; squoze out a few beads of nice rich red and then wiped; added some anti-bacterial ointment and taped – sans gauze – the thumb into this gaudy affair with twists and turnbuckles added at tape’s whim – not mine! – and then headed towndownwardly to the library to file this debacle as first from Memorial Day observances. This afternoon I plan a nice painfully hot – scalding, actually, epsom salts bath, another racking of the squoze plan and this time use gauze and more apropos binder. The shards sit. Still. And will until I up the beer intake. Thedustpan is nearby. Have any of you seen the foxtail? Oh, well: that’s why God gave me two opposables, neh?)

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