Big Bang Memory

I was just thinking about the day that I blew part of my hand away. September twenty, sixty-three: that day will live in infamy. Fireworks should be handled with care and on that day I couldn't spare the time to do things right, which led to my sad plight. Confused was I after the blast; how did it all happen so fast? I'm standing back some twelve feet now from the explosion site, but how? Some water running, I can hear; must turn the tap off, should be near. There is no tap; it is the sound of my own blood splashing the ground. I panic now, am filled with fright; my mangled hand a gruesome sight. Two perfect hands I had before, but that shall be the case no more. No nine-one-one; does not exist; I wrap a cloth around my fist and hold it tight - - can't stand this heat! A car is flagged down in the street. A helpful driver we have found, willing to take us all around. The first hospital turned us away; We have no doctors here, they say. And so across the town we fly; another clinic we can try. There finally we find success; they put me under, now I rest. That man who drove us all about was Heaven-sent, there is no doubt. The hospitals were very far; would not have lived without that car! The years have passed, and I reflect on treating fireworks with respect. We get shorthanded here in the fall and I'm the most shorthanded of all.