The Last Joint

The corner of the table, sharp,

and my toe found it, a yelp

that wasn't quite a cry, no harp

or violins, just a silent 'help'.

And then I looked at this small digit,

my pinky, bruised, a sudden ache.

So easy to forget it, to fidget

with something bigger, for goodness sake.

But it's connected, right? To the whole

of the hand, the arm, the rest of me.

Smallest part, takes its toll

when it gets bent, for all to see.

Funny how the least of things can sting

the most, a throbbing, constant drum.

Reminds you every time you swing

your hand, that tiny part's not numb.