A speck of dust or grain of dirt
Has lodged beneath my skin.
And, though it doesn’t really hurt,
I fetch a knife and pin.

I cut the flesh and poke around,
But nothing do I find.
And so, like some disheartened hound,
I leave the fox behind.

Not that it matters much, I know;
My skin’s all pocked and scarred.
To me, that only goes to show
Life’s nothing if not hard.

And yet I’m very glad to live.
I mean, what’s the alternative?

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

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