My dad sharpened a knife
And I did one better
I used that knife
And cut my finger
Pointer on the right hand
Messing up my fingerprint
While slicing potatoes for dinner
So with a bandaid on
I feel like a kid again
That can't keep its fingers safe
And always finds a way to seek out injury
Even as subconscious as it seems
The potatoes got chopped in the end
Put in a pot of water to boil
And after my finger bled
And was doused with peroxide
A tan bandage wraps the finger
Reminding me
To try being a little more careful next time
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
