Arthritis (or It's All Just a Game)

Working at an indoor gun range
at the age of fourteen
an eighty pound steel target
falls on both of my index fingers
as i clean up the range
after the competition

They are crushed, mashed really
and when i run to the bathroom
to run them under cold water
the mirror reflects my
soft young blood-drained face
after the competition

I fall against the door of the bathroom
barely catching myself on the toilet...
I awake to the pounding of my boss
on the other side of the door
afraid his insurance will not cover me
after the competition

Getting myself back onto my feet
I splash my face with cold water
and assess my wounds
Two useless fingers
six to eight broken bones
after the competition

I open the door while
putting on my best face and
hoping that my color has returned
enough to fool him into believing
as i assure him that i am okay
after the competition

Seventeen years later
I know that it's going to rain soon
my left index finger swells and throbs
my right knee and left big toe help with the forecast
but my trigger finger still dreams of gold
after the competition