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.
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/riff/”>Riff</a>
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