The Finger

A girl on the train
Rearranging her apps
The little icons shiver in the air-conditioning
Behind her, poised
Above a white hot void
My finger
Like a sword
Waiting to fall
On a rope made of fears
Tied to the weight
Of thirty-five years
Are you sure you want to proceed?
Isn’t there a whole other life you’re supposed to need?
And when, exactly, are you going to breed?
The air underneath my finger
Crackles with potential –
        The suspense is intentional
A fade out and fade in
Between a montage of scenes
from a life lived too thin
And an establishing shot
As a plane screams away
From a life soon forgot
And behind me, all my blood
Their necks craned
Faces pained
Urge me to turn back
Afraid of the crack
Widening at my feet

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