after Louis Jenkins, Confessional Poem

Curled up, bicep flexed and tucked
into my left armpit I have this
auxiliary limb I don’t usually talk about
but there it is

I call it auxiliary – To call it merely extra
though accurate I suppose – could imply
so many things I clearly do not mean and
not having one themselves I wouldn’t
want anyone to believe I feel any
particular way about it when in fact
I don’t

It is small
the limb – I would call it an arm but
perhaps you would suppose things
about its shape and mechanics
based on its location that really
you shouldn’t, and even if

I told you how jacked its tiny muscles are
how dexterous the three fingers
two elbows and opposable thumb can be

how deftly it tucks itself up there, stays
out of the way when not in use
and how handy it is now to pick
your pocket while giving you a hug

you would only have a picture
called to mind, one of your own
imagination – some cartoon alien hand, or
a worthless t-rex paw – and we can’t have that

no, I don’t need to show it to you
just so you can marvel at whatever it is
you notice first – You will obsess about it
for days – You’ll ask if you can touch it
just to see what it feels like

- no, you can’t touch it -

Stop wondering if I’d let you – I regret
even telling you about the way
the knobby knuckles bend
the way the joints fold
and unfold so efficiently and how sometimes
I have to have my dress shirts tailored
with an extra sleeve

Stop checking your pockets
I didn’t even do anything

It’s not some creepy proboscis
It’s got no slimy coating, no hair,
no magical ET finger
or so I’ve told you
It isn’t even that gross like
whatever you suspect it could be
maybe just a little on the sweaty side
and smelling of armpit or
spray deodorant

Poking at it will only
ruin things between us
How much is it worth
to have this confirmation
that what I say is true
for me to teach you something
you don’t really need to know

If you stop asking me about it
you can have your wristwatch back