A WEE BIT UTENSILE (1958)
Not a word maybe but it means a tool, and that be
that. Not yet, I wasn't born yesterday. It's difficult
to eat when one's mouth is closed - I learned
all of that a long time ago, as a young boy out
out camping in the woods. Wish I'd never left.
-
Do you really need to know more? I'll tell you:
when I was eight, I was hit by a train and only
woke up about half-a-year later. They thought
I was dead at the scene, until I groaned when
some rough-rider first aid guy started to drag
me around. I was scrunched, you see, beneath
the metal dashboard of a '53 Ford wagon.
-
My mouth was wired shut for about nine months -
broken jaw and face and such All I could eat was
baby-food sucked from a deep spoon through the
metal clamps and braces holding my mouth. That,
and custard - which, believe me I grew to hate.
My parents' neighbor, Myrtle, used to come and
visit - after I'd awakened from my coma-death -
about every two days with another bowl of that
crud. Oowee, I hated that stuff.
-
Then I was in traction, all wired up, for another long
time - and some stupid male nurse kept coming around
to change the sheets - every time, twisting me and turning
me until I grimaced and cried out. It was so weird. Can
you figure any of this out? But, hell, do you really want
to? I'm still here, and here I am. Utensile, it is.
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