There is a special circle in hell
For whomever it is that invented “sale” stickers
That refuse to peel off.
Scraping away at the front cover of a book
Becomes an exercise in precision,
Trying not to rip or ruin an elegant design.
I am reduced to surgery:
A paring knife,
Tweezers,
Cotton wool,
Eucalyptus oil.
And I pad, scrape, pick, and lift
The fading scab of $9.95
From the delicate matte-finished skin beneath.
Continue reading “Reflection: Broken Teeth by Tony Birch”
The Wayward Girls' Book Club 