Tuesday, January 27, 2009

R.I.P. My Little Pinky


Summer's sparkling leaves were just a memory as the three fingered hand walked alone on a cold January night. Cleveland, at 2:00am, is no place to be in winter. Especially when the wind and snow coming off the lake cuts through you like 277 volts of 3 phase power. The three shots of gin were not enough to lessen the despair the hand felt. In a moment of revolutionary esprit it had given the world the proverbial finger and the world had not given it back. The morning of January 16, 1991 had looked grand to the hand. A day which dawned with the luncheon promise, at the China Palace restaurant, of fresh jumbo prawns flown in from New York. Some call it fate, some call it bad luck, but the hand never made that lunch. And after January 27, 1991 its pinky would never be seen again......

Ode to a Pinky
In pinky heaven do you stand
singing pinky psalms?
Do you gaze upon this mortal hand
with too few fingers and slender palm?


It was 18 years ago today when Dr. Hand (no kidding) filleted my poor little finger. Happy anniversary little finger. I miss you so. I still get questioned about the truth on how I lost my little finger. To tell the truth, it has been such a long time and I have lied about it so much I have forgotten the true story. I can no longer vouch for the veracity of any tale concerning its disappearance. Some say it still haunts the halls of Cleveland Clinic, scratching the ears of unsuspecting researchers. Others claim it wanders the Southwestern desert searching for its lost hand and at night when the wind whistles through the trees you might hear its plaintive cry. I hear that its story is told around campfires to scare the young, "And all there was left was a bloody pinky hanging on the car..."

Ode to a Pinky Two

There is sweet joy in my memory
when my gaze does softly linger
upon the empty space
where dwelt my little finger

Why take such a morbid glee
at what is considered painful?
I would simply say to you
self-pity is not gainful

Yes, yes, I admit it freely
There are things sorely lacking
no more five fingered chords
since the surgeon went a-whacking

But as you can plainly see
its loss I do not rue
because the notoriety I have gained
is owed to a pinky, too.
Requiescat in Pace little buddy
February 1958 - January 1991

1 comment:

Anna said...

There are no words, no requiem greater than what thou hast written. I believe I hear a pinky bell ringing right now from heaven. Excellent pics!!!!