A victim
of the ravages of youth,
a crowd (dis)pleaser,
scarred by visitations from
chalk-drawn sidewalk angels,
an armpost.
Nerve endings in absentum,
slingshot ready sinew and skin
malleable like squeamish faces,
soft and squishy
beached jellyfish.
I can't stop playing with it, like my
inappropriate similes.
The bastard child
of my right elbow,
the paralyzed defender of my dermis.

I'm still playing with it.