On the Neurological Loss of the Function of My Left Hand
Leftie always
imbecile banging
into my groin,
my daughter’s eye,
I amputate you
several times a day.
At night, if I let
my wife straighten out
your five curly fries,
and strap me
into the black splint
of sleep, let me at least
lower the dark plank
of my bondage below the blanket.
Pleasure me leisurely.
The pinched off passageways,
narrowing straits, remove
you from me. Already
a straight-faced traitor lying
next to me in marriage.