Structural Integrity

The heel was coming off so I grabbed the pliers

and a tube of the clear stuff that eats your breath.

I'm trying to save the boots from the junk-pile fires

but I glued my thumb down, a tiny kind of death.

The fumes are sharp, a chemical punch to the chest.

There's a salty white crust where the cap won't close.

I'm stuck to the table, failing the repair test,

while the heat of the bonding crawls up my nose.

I pull the skin slow, watching the surface tear

like a receipt being ripped in a quiet store.

Nothing stays together without some wear,

and I'm just leaving pieces of myself on the floor.