Wider

I’ve ducked this for months. Now I’m pinned

under a light that’s too hot for my skin.

He says the word and I unhinge my face,

feeling the air hit a sensitive place.

The drill is a whine like a saw on a bone.

I’m staring at a poster of a beach, all alone.

I taste the pink chalk of his latex thumb,

waiting for the needle to make the world numb.