my index finger has a mind of its own,
fingertip absently moving over my belly as i read in bed,
fingernail discovering a flaky bump of skin to scratch to an upright position,
small white scale of skin standing up from what may well prove to be
the first growth of a melanomic death. i pull it free from
off the bump on my belly, scraping it up with my fingernail,
dropping it into my mouth for recycling,
where it has neither flavor nor weight.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)