Soft Metal

The wrench has slipped and left a bright orange scar

across the pipe that’s weeping on my face.

I’m twisted in the dark like some old car,

trying to hold the plumbing in its place.

The smell of pennies fills the narrow air,

a heavy, metallic sweat that coats my skin.

A single drop has caught me unaware,

tasting of rust and where the leaks begin.