Old Lefty Poem by nathan martin

sometimes i want to write but
my hand cramps up
so i switch hands

now my right hand does not like
my left because he is always drunk
and he does not know how
to use chopsticks properly.

old lefty does not seem able
to be articulate at first either.
being referred to as the dark left.
a place where
q's look like r's
c's look like a's
and a's still look like a's

infact the intire alphabet turns
and renders itself to lefty in some
form of ancient sanskrit known
as illegable scribble

where
strange birds float down on silt
through the pens black ink nile
cursing in aramaic
and chain smoking domestic
cigerettes rolled in the papyrus
of holy books

along the reeds of fingers
they pass like a mosaic law
held together by the thumb.

until one rises along the interstate
to show itself to a man in a
landrover following way to close.

old lefty you beautifully
misunderstood dyslexic genius,
how could i have only used
you for holding the coffee
mug all these years.