infection, finger

its difficult to type here    when a swelling digit starts yammering at you

fuck!  it hollers,  recalling  friday night’s soup pan  heat that  was grabbed      sans holder of hot pots

initial reaction:      o h           now its just a simple blister           causing discomfort

still, things were chopped and sauted    as blister grew and digit  grew  and throbbed into the night

suffering injury to primary fingers on primarily used hands or arms    fares far worse than this i hear

still, it woke me last  night     with its swell and ache      as it made contact with the hard wood of headboard   it woke me as if an alien had bit down and attached itself for a long , painful chew and chomp       while some unseen jokester took digit by the     hand      inviting it to rest in iron vice

in the a.m.   it was impossible to take clothes off or put them on    hold book covers        turn pages of the sunday paper      now misshappen digit’s plan was to  spend a quiet sunday    sending shock waves with  mere touch      damn       this motherfucker hurts…

today   french barley/mushroom soup called from bottom shelf      for completion        painful finger  joined the others           on hand            in slicing the remaining     odd varietals of  mushrooms      they carried  their swollen compadre’          through its mission        chopped more small perfect bits of onion celery and carrot   veggies     listening to the whine and wincing on occasion      holding breath  through the pain    digit laughed at my squimishness as i added cream sherry and garlic      then  veggie broth to finally cover and simmer…

its last straw came      when it was time to restore order to the   kitchen…

sink filled  good hand tossed used dish and utensils into     filling sink….

as hand and swelling digit jumped into hot hot water           i gave up with the bravery

letting tears stream        gasping in pain     as digit, now twice its normal size        laughed  as good hand      leapt out         finally reaching for      

the doctor’s number

About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i release the gamut of tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
This entry was posted in poetry/poesy. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s