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John Trainor

Fingers

Kitchen drawer of a type 2 diabetic

If I had fingers, I would find things.  I would fumble, feeling through drawers of cards and notes.  Fond felicitations of folk, friends from days gone by; five new pence; four candles; photos  of first found love; french dictionary; fixtures and fittings; fabric for furniture faded and faint, a fad never realised from the fifties; a foreign fan forged in the far east; finger wipes from fatty fast food feasts; financial files on useless floppy flimsies; flex; foam; forms; freezer bags;  fridge magnets; fuses; fuzzy, furry sweeties.
Oh the fundamental fun of the frolic of finding!
If I only had fingers.

But I don’t and my friends call me stumpy!

(2014)

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