You know that part of your pinky finger
The doctor cut off and threw away?
That's me.
That part that was always in the way,
And couldn't quite escape the reality
Of the big machinery, the swather,
Coming down hard, trying to connect prematurely,
That part that got smashed,
That part that bled,
The part that had to have an abortion,
And you shook your head in shame and wondered why,
That part that needed sex,
Because it never had any love to compare?
Yeah,that's me.

And I know you'll never miss it.
You'll go on just like before,
Making jokes so everyone sees how tough you are,
But I wonder if some rainy day
When you sit at the kitchen table
And reach for another sip of coffee
From your old green coffee cup,
If you'll notice that part of you
That's not there anymore?
That's me.

-jenn