2014: Busted Wing

I probably don't need to tell you this much,

as the holiday weather turns colder,

but despite all our wishes and protests and such,

the fact is we're all getting older.

No, this isn't news, and I know you know too

that one day you're fit as a fiddle,

then a decade or two gets the better of you,

and your bones turn from brilliant to brittle.

And so it is now, as I sit down to write,

in my holiday ritual of choice,

that I'm using my left hand but not so my right

as I find my Thanksgivingly voice.

A wiffle ball game was the culprit, you see,

as I stood on the mound feeling bolder

than all of the eight-year-olds ranged around me

'til I fell squarely on my right shoulder.

I heard a loud crunch and I asked myself "why?"

as I writhed on the ground in despair.

The answer was simple, said a quick MRI:

my torn labrum would need a repair.

A trip to the surgeon proved just the right thing,

and I'm healing as well as I'm able.

But I carry my dominant arm in a sling

as I sit to my favorite table.

With my right arm on ice but my left one still free,

I can toast and raise up a wine glass.

(Then there are tasks that come less easily,

like to shave or to wipe my own mouth.)

So hand me the white meat, and then pass the dark–

don't skimp on these treats so delicious.

But it's here by my place that the food will all park,

for I can't hand around all the dishes.

And Lefty, oh Lefty, please don't let me down,

though you can't free the wine from its cork.

You've spent my whole life being carried around–

can you operate both knife and fork?

I'm sure it will all go according to plan,

and I know I'll be feeling no pain–

except the pre-prandial joining of hands,

when I'm the one breaking the chain.

So let me remind you again, though you know:

through all of your AMs and PMs,

the older you get the more fragile you grow,

so remember to carpe your diems.

And as you sit down on this Thanksgiving day,

with a turkey that's perfectly trimmed,

I send you my love and I'll be back next year–

older, but then, fully-limbed.