Some Poems About Wounds

Wound Explanation #2

The octopus in the park was different.

It was pink as a sucked thumb

And it was no good.

In the park the octopus was inevitable.

It stretched out and gave up.

I tapped its shoulder, I called its name.

I screamed “ugly” and it was still.

I was also no good.

But the octopus in the park was different.

I dropped my book on its back and left it

There forever.