Good Friday, 4:30, a poem
Good Friday , 4:30
The tack that holds the cord
falls out.
I push it in,
again
and next when I look,
it's gone.
I have hammered
the point
and pressed my thumb
hard,
even knuckled 'til blood came;
no luck.
The sinew in the office
will not
lie still, can't be
hidden.
I'll stash away this hammer
and leave,
dripping.
Good Friday, 4:30 by Erin Hamilton is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
The tack that holds the cord
falls out.
I push it in,
again
and next when I look,
it's gone.
I have hammered
the point
and pressed my thumb
hard,
even knuckled 'til blood came;
no luck.
The sinew in the office
will not
lie still, can't be
hidden.
I'll stash away this hammer
and leave,
dripping.
Good Friday, 4:30 by Erin Hamilton is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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