Bad Thumb
This is the finger crushed
between doors, age six
before mass, offered up
to the god of no ice: thankless, squat, bruised.
The stub scrumbling in loam,
awkward flinger of carrot seeds,
a thousand to the ounce.
This is the pit end of the shovel,
digit no one claims
from the bin of lost appendages,
stump with the spatulate nail, ugly in polish,
begging for a blunt clip.
Never the soft lamb, the silky tip.
Sandpapered, abraded of tissue.
Whorl of a tornado, spiral
of no-good, a print-on-record.
This is the thumb that wouldn’t get a job.
The thumb that finally lowered the shade,
pulled the pin, cocked the hammer.
The thumb that raised itself
roadside, no apologies. Hopped
into a vagabond truck, vanished.
---
copyright 2007, T. Clear
originally appeared in Bayou
This is a thrilling piece, T. I read it out loud twice. LOVE it!
ReplyDeleteA triumphant poem, T. Clear. Tender, too.
ReplyDeleteThere are so many layers in here.
L, C
PS. T. Clear - would it be okay with you if we add a link to your blog from the new Tuesday Poem site? Would you mind dropping me a line re; this (on Icelines?) when you get a mo.? Thanks - L, C x
ReplyDeleteHi T - the links are up... Thanks!
ReplyDeleteBad thumb? Great poem! I love it. When do your 'Collected Works' appear?
ReplyDeleteBisou, Cro.
I love this poem. It's left me smiling. Go thumb!
ReplyDeleteAs a fervent hitch-hiker in my youth, I applaud your thumb in all its opposable cock-a-snoot glory. Thanks for your Tuesday Poem, Premium T.
ReplyDeleteWonderful! I really love this one, too!!!!
ReplyDeleteSo glad you're doing Poem Tuesdays! I loved this poem when I first read it and I'm so glad to have the chance to read it again!
ReplyDelete