Bent Wire

It’s just a thread, a dark speck tight,

against the weave, defying light.

My thumb’s nail couldn't find the grip,

so I reached for this, this tiny clip.

A silver bend, cold and thin,

I poke it in, try to begin

the unraveling. It snags, it skips.

A tiny war between my fingertips.

The metal scrapes, a small, hard sound,

my patience worn, on shaky ground.

I dig it deeper, feel the prick,

this stubborn lint, this simple trick

that isn't simple. Not at all.

A tiny wire, standing tall

against my will, a crooked gleam.

Just a loose thread, or so it seems.