Surface Tension

The sun is cutting through the blinds

in a series of sharp, dusty slats.

It hits the TV and reveals the crime:

a single, oily whorl of a thumbprint

right on the leading man’s bridge of his nose.

I must have touched it when I was hooking up the HDMI,

panting and frustrated in the dark.

Now the movie is just a backdrop

for the messy geometry of my own hand,

stuck there like a brand on the glass.