A stupid piece of pine I swear

A stupid piece of pine, I swear,

just jumped right up, it did,

and burrowed deep beneath my thumb,

where it is safely hid.

I squeezed and picked and cursed a bit,

with tweezers bright and keen,

but it just laughed and slid right down,

a dark, rebellious sheen.

Now just a faint, dark line remains,

a phantom, dull, and sore.

A tiny, tiny, stubborn pain,

I can't ignore anymore.

It throbs when I forget it's there,

a constant, small demand.

A silent, sharp reminder, where

it lives beneath my hand.