Wrists
My Wrists
That was first grade -- chipped some teeth, not bad.
The next left lasting marks,
It was in the dead of winter,
Roads were icy, studs made sparks.
We were late, as usual -- late for school.
I ran up to the door.
Somehow I thought it opened in --
Not out, like times before.
I slid the last few feet in slush,
Both hands extending out --
They hit the glass panes -- shattered them.
Not safety glass, no doubt.
My right wrist had a two-inch gash --
My left arm took two hits.
They took me in to Mr. Young,
Who calmly kept his wits.
I cried out loud instinctively,
Although there was no pain.
It seemed the thing to do right then,
Or so said my small brain.
He loosely wrapped both arms in gauze,
Then took me in his car
To that same room I'd seen before --
Community's ER.
They shot me up with numb'er,
Stitched me up, both sides, not neat.
Mr. Young stayed by to take me home,
Or school -- my choice -- his treat.
I couldn't feel a thing! Whatever stuff
They used sure did the trick!
No one's home right then, so school we went
Where I got in the thick
Of it. Kids had heard the rumors --
They had seen the broken door.
I
looked
all right, all bandaged up.
They wanted to hear more!
I told them I couldn't feel a thing,
But did they take my word?
A demonstration soon ensued
That bordered on absurd …
I let them bite my fingers, then
I slammed them in the door.
Tried to cut them with some scissors,
Stomped them nearly through the floor!
I said that I did not feel a thing --
'Twas true -- for one more hour …
That's when what worked before wore off!
That's when things turned quite sour!
Oh the agony! The throbbing pain
From self-inflicted wounds!
It didn't stop -- for sev'ral hours!
Throughout that afternoon …
It still hurt up 'til suppertime --
And then it didn't quit!
I was aching still next morning!
I've got scars -- I can't forget!