Swollen ...

I got kicked

in the hand today.

And it might be fractured. It might be fractured.

I really should

bow off this stage

because I'm not an actor. I'm not an actor.

But those fresh eyes

on the sidelines look

And I am a model. I am a model.

So I bow back in,

throw a hard, straight kick

as a plea: “Don't coddle.” A plea: “don't coddle.”

     They knuckle back –

     and they're being kind

     by my hand neglecting: being kind; neglecting.

     But I keep her safe

     by my side anyway:

     she's a child I'm protecting. Child-protecting.

     And when I respond,

     I fight for two

     because one's not ready (is not yet ready):

     she needs to grow

     up into these shoes,

     so I hold her steady. I hold her steady

          and catch that arm

          that wants my face –

          and pull it further: pull it further

          than it ever

          dreamed or wanted

          to, for it might hurt her. Just might hurt her.

          I wrap around it

          and drag it down:

          a one-armed pin. A one-armed pin

          like every eel

          or elephant

          had to learn to win. And learned soon to win.

                   Spread out on his chest,

                   he taps the floor

                   and we both agree: we both agree.

                   And she's glad she's safe,

                   but I say, “Heal fast,

                   for your brother breaks too: you'll see.”