Switchblade, machete hanging in the garage, forgotten
elements of a life long lived,
treasures of my father,
not to be touched, moved,
rusty old things, guaranteed to necessitate
a tetanus shot.

I never listened.

Throbbing pain
blood gushing from my fingertip,
silent scolding.

No loud crashes
just the quiet aftermath

not unlike
unanswered texts
ignored phone calls
disregarded emails
sent to those who determine IF and WHEN
they choose to respond

cutting, slashing with indifference
reaching out and nothing.
Checking my cell phone every half hour
on the hour.
Nothing.

Bleeding
the bacterial disease of disdain
slicing.

Renee Williams is a retired English professor, who has written for Of Rust and Glass, Alien Buddha Press and the New Verse News.