Hand-Off

I am becoming infirm one finger at a time
Is this how it happens, digit by digit
Not all at once, being felled in the street
Hit by a car or clutching my chest

My finger must be coaxed to unbend
In the morning, I watch it unfurl in slow motion
No one told me to look out for this
This tiny incapacitation, it comes as a surprise

A fascination, I am entranced by my sick finger
With its slight bend, softer than my father’s little finger
That he broke as a kid and it stayed frozen as a V forever
My finger is an apprentice to my father’s, a fledgling

The hand salve is greasy and smells of mint and other deep things
In a tin like axle grease sold at a general store last century
With my well hand I pull my bent finger, massaging and straightening
As if this is temporary and will pass