sometimes in poetry

when I was a child
I’d look down at my double-jointed thumb and
tell myself “remember”
remember that this little thing is a little bit of proof
proof that I am special
that I can do great things
that I am somehow important

I was a truly weird child
I have no idea where I came up with that kind of
exceptionalist horseshit
but I would focus on it for minutes every day
pull back on my left thumb like the cocking of a cap gun
hold it until the muscles almost went numb
told myself “remember”

I will sometimes forget I have a double-jointed thumb
for years at a stretch
I jammed my hand on an airplane seat just now
aircraft not developed for people of my size
my thumb cocked back unnaturally and
I heard that reality-impared little boy say it
“remember”

ah hell
even though I know that guy was just
precocious sheltered maladjusted and probably crazy
I still can’t help but hope
the little fuck was right despite himself

I cock my thumb and hope
sometimes