Robert Verdon, #198, Serendipity

mumps

were a malady

I missed

from left field;

I was no good

with my hands

always berated

nay derided

for my craftwork

handwriting

woodwork

metalwork

hand-eye

coördination

(forced

to go all the way,

of course);

now I squint 

to remember,

my right hand,

momentarily

still as a silhouette

wards off the sun

not at all, even

snow burned it

when I was three,

but mumps

somehow I

warded them off

without turning a tendon:

it's quite a mystery,

considering other kids had it;

maybe I used my left hand,

the bar sinister,

and my right hand didn’t know.