I was just thinking about the day
that I blew part of my hand away.
September twenty, sixty-three:
that day will live in infamy.
Fireworks should be handled with care
and on that day I couldn't spare
the time to do things right,
which led to my sad plight.
Confused was I after the blast;
how did it all happen so fast?
I'm standing back some twelve feet now
from the explosion site, but how?
Some water running, I can hear;
must turn the tap off, should be near.
There is no tap; it is the sound
of my own blood splashing the ground.
I panic now, am filled with fright;
my mangled hand a gruesome sight.
Two perfect hands I had before,
but that shall be the case no more.
No nine-one-one; does not exist;
I wrap a cloth around my fist
and hold it tight - - can't stand this heat!
A car is flagged down in the street.
A helpful driver we have found,
willing to take us all around.
The first hospital turned us away;
We have no doctors here, they say.
And so across the town we fly;
another clinic we can try.
There finally we find success;
they put me under, now I rest.
That man who drove us all about
was Heaven-sent, there is no doubt.
The hospitals were very far;
would not have lived without that car!
The years have passed, and I reflect
on treating fireworks with respect.
We get shorthanded here in the fall
and I'm the most shorthanded of all.
Kim Barney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/big-bang-memory/
