The Skin at the Tip of My Elbow (Weenus)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
In the sunlit classroom on Point Nemo,
cracked wooden desk under my fingers,
I trace the page of Gray's Anatomy,
first edition from 1858, Henry Gray's hand,
describing the arm's loose skin,
pliable for flexion, no name given.
Pemba sits across, sipping herbal tea,
calls it the listening flap,
says it hears the wind's secrets.

[Chorus]
Weenus, the word that fills the gap,
pinch it, stretch it, feel the pull,
dry from salty air at 24 degrees Celsius,
mid-afternoon light slanting in,
2:30 PM, shadows long on the floor.
No formal term in the books,
but weenus whispers back.

[Verse 2]
Dr. William Halsted, born 1852, died 1922,
wrote of skin as the body's envelope,
every fold a story of wear.
I pinch mine, the tip of the elbow,
slightly rough, like dried mango skin,
sticky sweet from the slice I chewed.
Outside, the rusty bicycle waits,
wind on my arms as I ride to the pond.

[Bridge]
Wellcome Collection in London holds the text,
yellowed pages open to the arm,
no label for this fold, this listening flap.
Pemba laughs, says it's for hearing prayers,
slang from American teens, late 20th century,
a joke that stuck like sea salt.

[Verse 3]
Feel it now, the odd stretch,
salty tang in the air, musty books around,
no rivers here for beavers, but words build dams.
Weenus, the gap-filler, the unnamed skin,
I doodle it with blunt pencil,
on the desk where lessons linger.

[Outro]
Listening flap, weenus, whatever you call it,
it bends with the island's breeze.