I was driving a long when I saw half an arm, from
elbow and down to hand, on the verge of the road.
I stopped, picked it up with my right hand and it
quickly grabbed my left wrist and wouldn´t let go.
A man came from the bushes: “it is my arm,” he
said and wrestled it off my wrist and connected
the limb to its rightful place, stapled and put it
between his shirt opening looking like Napoleon.
He told me that years ago he lost his own arm,
doctors sewed a new one on; works ok, but there
are tasks it doesn´t like to do like being helpful
when nature calls, I let my right hand do it but
sometimes I forget the left detaches itself tries
to run off. With that he went back to his field
mounted a tractor, his left arm worked fine, and
he disappeared in a blast of dust and diesel fume
