The Wrong Texture

The price tag said five dollars, maybe four,

so I dragged the heavy thing out of the store.

But the yarn is a lie, a chemical mess,

that makes me want to scream, I must confess.

It catches on my skin, it pulls and it drags,

like a thousand tiny, plastic-edged flags.

A loop of the thread caught a hangnail tonight,

and I ripped it away in a moment of spite.