Patrol

Bit a peach and the acid hit

a crack I didn't know about.

Tongue dropped into the slit

and wouldn't come back out—

pressed the edge, ran the ridge,

an hour later still at it.

Lick, check, lick. The bridge

between what I am and what I bit.

My tongue has done this all my life:

circling the yard,

finding the damage, nosing the knife-

edge before the brain's on guard.

Doesn't quit.