I stand next to the brick wall
by the outside basement doors.
Keith looks up from his hand and shows me
the stub of the finger that is gone…
“I caught it in a rusty bumper. My daddy
said we’d get the doctor. By the time he
came, I had it out, but it was hanging by
a thread. The doctor said, ‘It’s gotta
come off.’ I tried not to cry in the
hospital. It hurt when they cut it off.
It hurt for a long, long time,
even after they put it in a pickle jar beside my bed.”

His story upsets me,
and I don’t know why.
Finally, the fear passes, and we have fun
playing together after school.

On a sunny morning a few weeks later,
he comes over with his brother.
I pedal along the sidewalk in my red fire engine
with dual cardboard exhausts
and crayon flames painted on the side.
My brother and sister drive their tricycles behind.
Keith and Danny are excited…
Danny shows us his bandaged hand.
“I caught my fingers in the swingset,
and they both almost came off…
just like Keith’s. But the doctor
said that he could save them
and put these bandages on…”

I smile, despite the fear that wells up in me.
and then it strikes me,
and I know I want to get away from them.

They say, “Can you play?”
Afraid of catching their bad luck like the flu,
I say, “No, no…I don’t feel good.
I’ll see you later.”
And I pump the fire engine
into the open garage,
leap from it,
run into the house
and the shelter of my mother’s dress.

 

copyright,  © 1989, 2008 Chris Desjardins pka Chris D.

composed circa 1975-78; originally published in DOUBLE SNAKE BOURBON, reprinted in A MINUTE TO PRAY, A SECOND TO DIE.    

A MINUTE TO PRAY, A SECOND TO DIE is an epic, career-spanning anthology of Chris D.'s writings, published by New Texture. Buy it here.