Ode to my Left Hand

My life has got quite tricky.
I’ve just one arm to use.
The other is quite useless.
Asked, ‘Can you . . .   ?’ I refuse!

I’m typing with one finger.
Four others are on strike.
They’ve come out in sympathy,
With the five I’ve on my right.

There are so many things, I find,
It’s difficult to do.
I can’t zip, peel spuds or style my hair.
No biggy there, it’s true.

My dresser/sous chef has stepped in
And I can wear a hat,
Cause he won’t learn hairdressing,
And I can tell you that . . .

It’s hard to clap one-handed,
Or tie a knot or bow,
Or spread on some hand lotion
Or skip rope, don’t you know.

I cannot put my watch on
My left arm any more.
I cannot put it on my right,
Because it is too sore.

To brush my teeth is difficult.
Two hands are a must,
To squeeze the tube and paste the brush,
Is really quite a fuss.

I’ve been practicing you see.
My right hand is redundant.
My left hand has come up trumps,
Though it was not incumbent.

My left hand is first team now,
My right is second squad
It sits around and whines a lot,
And refuses to applaud.

I shall be ambidextrous
When all of this is through
My left hand is quite nimble now
My right hand says ‘thank you!’

I’m feeling slightly better now,
Than when I wrote this ditty.
I am no longer shouting ‘OW!’
Like when I was feeling . . . . . . . . lousy!

There’s an upside to being frail.
I’m waited on hand and feet.
It’s like living in a fairytale.
This Princess says, ‘That’s sweet!’

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