Puncture

The door is thin but she’s plenty loud,

yelling about the bio grade I’m not proud

of having. I’m just staring at my toe

peeking through my sock, a little white O.

I tried to fix the zipper on my hood,

using a safety pin like I actually should

be able to do. But the metal was old

and the hinge was stuck, or so I’m told—

no, I just slipped. The point went deep,

past the fleece where the shadows sleep.

Now there’s a bright, round dot of red

blooming on my arm while she talks about my head.