THE STING

My kind of street........
I love the little pick-me-up
of a slap-splash of aftershave
on my nicked neck…
of iodine seeping into the fresh
cat-scratch: the surge, the crescendo
the climax of the biting sting…
Such a relief!
I’m like the tongue that discovers
the newly-chipped, razor-sharp
cuspid… and then throws itself on it
like some blood-swollen breaker
lashing the coral reefs at
full-moon high tide
repeatedly, endlessly
mercilessly,
for days…
so go ahead…
rub a little salt
in my wound