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.


Creative Commons License
Good Friday, 4:30 by Erin Hamilton is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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