unsame arm

at 8 years of age

it lay on the slanted top of a 3rd-grade desk

and its owner stared at it

wanted to remember it for the future

it was hairless satiny smooth

had a hand with stubby fingers

at 12 an allergist’s nurse made tiny wounds on it

in two rows

and painted the wounds with different stuffs

to test his allergic reactions

and strawberries cat dander and brazil nuts blazed

at 26 he did industrial deliveries

in a beat-up blue ford pickup truck

and he liked to drive with the window down

and rest his arm on the window ledge

and let it fry in the desert sun

in the days before sunscreen

at 53 he pedaled his bicycle at high speed

east on the sidewalk and cobblestones

by camelback road

when at once a jeep cherokee sprang from an alley

and he squeezed the front brake before the back

sending him over the handlebars

and into s l o w m o t I o n

and in that protracted split second

he watched his forearm kiss cobblestones

and slide on them

burning off epidermis

before he could react

here and now and four months and a day

before his seventy-second birthday

the old man looks at his old arm

which like he is battered but serviceable

the road rash has slowly healed over sixteen years

with scar tissue now comprising only 20%

of the original wound

and in the 63 years since the 3rd grade

his left arm and hand has thrown hardballs and darts

embraced hundreds of friends and a dozen lovers

combed his hair from shoepolish brown

to silver-glinted grey

and molded and vesselized tons of clay

and let the clay and the lovers and friends and sun

mold him as well