Adhesion

The kitchen light is a headache

bouncing off the linoleum.

The burn is finally quiet,

just a dark, puckered mark on my arm.

I catch the edge of the tan fabric.

It’s been there three days,

soaking up the shower and the sweat.

I pull it back, slow and mean.

The skin hitches and lets go.

It leaves a gray rectangle of glue

rimmed with lint from my work sweater.

I stand there picking at the sticky bits

until the red fades to white.