Wicker Tooth

Sat down hard on the porch swing,

sun a slap on my bare skin.

Felt it then, a sharp sting,

a brittle piece dug in.

Pulled my leg up quick, a small cry,

a red dot blooming on my thigh.

Old cane, dried out, refused to die

without a parting, piercing lie.

It's just a splinter, a thin thread,

from something old, almost quite dead.

A tiny point where life had fled,

leaving this harsh, unyielding bed.