Body
of us all compact with, at every extremity, nails. Tapping the breakfast bench,
running late. Woman on the tram with purple fingernails: Beetroot? Satsuma? The
goth next to her with black nails, a cycle of moonless nights. Male of species
is a mixed report: scrubbed and manicured, chipped and bent. During lectures,
scratch a tooth or pick a nostril. If they go unclipped, then we notice. They’re
in the way, unpleasant line of grime. Find time with clippers, soft after
shower. Sunny August weekends: trim trees, dig in beans, weed. Or if inclement,
play the keyboard for hours inside.
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