Washing on the Front Room Table

Just before bedtime,
We boys had to be washed
The bowl of hot water, soap, flannel and towel
On the table, waiting for each boy
Dad would select one of us
Never the same one twice, in line
A soaped flannel, aimed at a spot
Whilst washing he would ask
“What’s this bone called”?
If you were not the one being washed, silence was the rule
“Femur Dad, or Patella/tibia”
Another part chosen, “And this one ?”
Humorous, Radius, Clavicle or Ulnar?
We would point as the paradigm continued.
“What is this lumpy bit at you’re middle?”
“Pelvis,” I would shout in glee…
From digits to Metatassals, Scapular to Fibula
The number of ribs, including the two floating;
“Questions – where on, or in your body is your sternum?
Where on your body, would I find the ‘Zygumatic Arch’?
Our lessons were always good honest fun
Sometimes it was funnier, to give the answer wrong
But all of us knew where our bones were
Why they worked, how to respect the human frame.

(sorry if words have been mis-spelled)

Mike

This entry was posted in Autobiography, education, Health, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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