Pieces of Me Die Every Day

Last week, my right thumbnail—
didn’t I tell you?—
black as a Chevy tailpipe.

And wouldn’t you know,
three days ago it was a tooth—
the sweet one.

As if that wasn’t bad enough,
the day before yesterday, I lost the foot
that used to dance. Now I’m left

with the foot that wants
to run away. And yesterday
a fist of cloud struck

my right eye, though I can still
feel the hopeless lump
in my socket. It’s funny,

but I don’t remember when
or how this started. As luck
would have it, that piece of me

died this morning.