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stupid finger

by Angela Thomas

This is so like me... to cut my finger, not get stitches,
and now need surgery. Really, who has to go under
the knife because they cut their finger? It makes me
feel like a ten year old again and I didn't fold the

laundry right. Those were long nights. I used to fall
asleep standing up, surrounded by long white sheets
that had to be rolled in a specific way, while they were
still hot, or else. I won't talk about the "or else," but

let's just say there was no local anesthetic. Either way,
who has to go to the doctor because of a stupid finger?
Now, I'd understand if it had happened while I was drunk
one night, wanding around the city, having fun and

collapsing finally in a bed with a smile and smeared
black eyeliner. But, it happened while I was cutting
spinach. The spinach was going into one of the five
dishes I was making for the party I was having. The

five dishes that sat cold on my little kitchen table
because one person showed up, not fifteen. And, I was
worried that if I went and got stitches on my stupid
finger, I would have to leave and dissapoint all the

people that were going to be in my house. All one
of them, sitting there with my five dishes, and my
stupid, bleeding, currently infected, might have to
be amputated, looks black finger.

03/18/2006

Author's Note: and, just so you know.. my finger is okay now... at least until they operate on it next week. :)

Posted on 03/18/2006
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Delilah Coyne on 03/18/06 at 05:35 PM

OUCH! The finger, not the poem! Amazing the things that inspire us to sit down a write.

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