Poem: Running with Scissors

I’m a connoisseur of band-aids, a scion of duct tape.
If there’s something sharp lying about, a piece of glass,
Sharpened tack
Sewing in mending
A razor, exposed, I’m game, I’m afoot, I’m all thumbs.

In the ragged line where poise and clumsy meet for drinks
I stagger around, a wound waiting to happen
Slipped step
Senses unfocused
A nerve exposed, I’m on it with red soldiers, marching to a beat.

I’m a doctor of mayhem, a tenured professor of crash
There’s a crack in the floor, a step in the dark
Loose board
Carpet fraying
A pothole exposed, I’m diving, I swerving, I heading for China.

But now I laugh at these little diversions, for I’ve got their number
A simple contraption, a skater’s old gear
Two knees, and
Two elbows, and
A head unexposed, in a helmet I head into bed, at last ‘Sweet Repose’.


[edit on 21-8-2008 by Badge01]