the lancing
as a matter of course
i used to bite my toenails
instead of clipping them
would grab my feet like a monkey
and go to town
biting nails and spitting them on the floor
sometimes i’d bite too deep into the nail
get the flesh and bleed
untreated an infection would show up
and hurt like hell
there’d be pus and blood
a big white bulb on the side of my big toe
i got a perverse joy squeezing
all of that shit out of my foot
for some reason enjoyed the sharp pain
the ache of the swollen toe rubbing against
the leather of my shoe
my mother would catch me
hobbling around, wincing
she’d ask me what happened
if i was biting my toenails again
when i thought that i was being so stealth
let me look at it, she’d say
then when she saw it she’d frown
have me soak the toe in epsom salt and warm water
if it doesn’t get any better
we’re going to have to go to the doctor
to have that thing lanced, she’d tell me
we went through this
each and every single infection
always the threat of a lancing
i had no clue what a lancing was
didn’t want to know
my child’s brain imagined a lancing
like getting stabbed or pierced
because i related the word
to television and movie fantasy
to knights and horses
madmen fighting windmills
that goddamned doctor is going to stab me, i’d think
sitting there soaking in the epsom water
i vowed never to bite my toenails again
or my fingernails for that matter
i was always good
for a few weeks after the infection subsided
but could never stop myself
from doing as i pleased
i always went back to biting those toenails
like an addict
taking my chances
squeezing and squeezing at the pus and blood
if an infection came again
enjoying the pain alone in my room
reaching for the epsom salt
like a seasoned war veteran
for a good long soak in an old rusty pot
a lone knight without chainmail
the don quixote of my block
doing my part
to keep those doctors and their swift
shiny blades
at bay.
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