and he's the *****. He stuck out
like a toe with gout, red and round
with a swollen head. I turned him so
often, he lost his thread. I wanted to

hang my portrait on him. But I gave
my life to him. The picture didn't fit
the frame. The wall cracked and the plaster
chipped. And the shank sunk in

like it had been clipped. A silver spot
looking like a dime that had no purpose
and had no rhyme. I couldn't pull him
out. He was stripped. And so was I.