Fine Print

It’s the final notice for the electric,

pink paper that’s sharper than it looks.

I was just trying to stack the mess

on the edge of the radiator

when the webbing of my thumb

opened up.

It’s a clean, white valley at first.

No noise, just the sudden knowledge

that the air is touching something

it shouldn't. I count to three.

One. Two.

The red line wells up, thick and slow,

staining the bill I can’t afford to pay.

Now even the water glass

feels like a threat.