Tiny Apocalypses Birth Novelty
Hole in my sock ripping upwards
and onward into my calf, exposing muscle,
sinew, glistening gristle and bone.
You never had a clothing malfunction
like this.
Rock in my shoe tickling, pestering
my toe, extending tiny, rocky tentacles
into a callus and injecting the digit
with a mineral compound, a possessed concrete.
You never had a minor annoyance
like this.
The bench I am on laughs maniacally,
incessantly and incandescently,
brutally insults my frame – rejects my postures
and subjects me to an obtuse orthopedics.
What thrives in the long shadow cast by a tilted monolith?
You never had an afternoon
like this.