Following Friday's sins,
I'd usually sleep in.
That Saturday Mammy called up;
There was Daddy dripping blood,
Clinging to his thumb.
He was stubborn.
He sat back,
I drove fast,
And left him in emerg.
Hours later,
Back at home,
The phone.
The power switch
Was already off,
But on the floor,
Next to the saw,
I saw the thumb
Lying strangely alone,
The skin, the nail, the bone.
He died incomplete.
His stump was a talisman.
Grandkids got a kick from it
Asking him to count to ten.
If he'd told me he cut it off, I could have brought it with me for attachment. But he was a man of very few words.