Injury Time Out

Saw my grandson
with his dad
in the carpark
at the pharmacy.
We exchanged
energetic fist bumps
and commiserated
regarding injuries;
first, his scrape,
closely examined,
minuscule
though it was,
on the side of his foot;
then mine, under
the rolled up sleeve,
on my left elbow,
where a quarter moon
of pale scar, long healed,
covered the hole
where a rebellious radial head
had dislocated,
and refused to return,
necessitating its resection
via bone saw.
The discussion shifted
to the subject of dressings:
Yes, from the two year old,
shaking his rebellious head
authoritatively,
boo-boos need bandaids.