A Man of Parts
I am Joe’s eye. I have blessed him with sight.
But not at the moment. I’m closed for the night.
I am Joe’s ear. Does he clean me? Hell no.
He plans to bequeath me to Madame Tussaud.
We are Joe’s chins. You cannot see or feel us.
That trickster has nurtured a beard to conceal us.
I am Joe’s navel, an object of jest
And ridicule. That’s why I’m always depressed.
We are Joe’s teeth, engineered to do chewing.
Gums are our anchor and gum’s our undoing.
I am Joe’s kidney. I’m shaped like a bean.
My job, like Joe’s, can be done by machine.
I am Joe’s bladder. I’m Joe’s early warning.
I, not his clock, wake him up every morning.
I am Joe’s stomach. That proverb’s a lie.
Not the way to his heart, but his heartburn am I.
I’m Joe’s appendix, worth nothing to Joe
But thousands of bucks to some surgeon I know.
I am Joe’s heart, the bequest of his will.
Joe is in heaven and I am in Phil.
Bob McKenty has contributed to Light since its inception as a print journal. He is delighted that there is still someone other than Motel 6 keeping the light on for us.