Riff on chapped knuckles

Here’s a poem that appears in my book  Pick It Up and Read :

Riff on Chapped Knuckles

 

Oily skin , subjected to decades decanters of witch hazel

finally turned to parchment.

Suddenly after oceans of dishwater,

brillo pads erasing charred sugar,

wake up to papery palms,

chapped knuckles.

 

Rougher than brass,

worse tasting than sandwich,

truculent, they buckle

under hopeless lotion.

No more succulent knocks,

no more oily snickers,

no more soft blinkers,

only shredded dead skin

to suckle.

 

 

 

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