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Flaps of skin

Once I helped a buddy.  He had a little farm.  A makeshift pigpen with metal fencing.
I was mucking it out one day, and I saw that one of the bigger hogs had an “L” shaped  laceration on its side.  No blood.  Just a six inch flap of skin hanging down.  Must have caught himself on one of the pieces of corrugated tin.  My buddy looked and said “he doesn’t feel it”.  I doubted that.  Then he said, to the hog, “that’s it, you’re going for sausage.”

I have a habit, a nervous habit I guess.  Something akin to biting the fingernails.
You know when your lips get dry, and a little cracked maybe, and perhaps you might grab onto one of those little pieces of dead skin, with your teeth, and maybe pull a little?
Maybe?  Well, I pulled a little too hard one time, and a pretty good chunk of flesh came out with it.  I tasted the salty blood running down my chin.  Wife said what happened.
Just never mind.
That hurt.  But, you know, I have done it again.  And again.

I’ve been to the dentist enough times to learn.  They stick those needles in, and say
“now, remember not to chew or eat anything hot until the freezing comes out”.  I am waiting for them to give me a lollipop too.  Of course, I forget, or choose to disregard, such good advice.  Well, I chewed a little bit one time.  I was hungry, and I suppose I chewed some more too.  Peeled some skin off the cheek meat.  Wife said what happened.  Oh oh.  That clumsy tongue must have gotten in the way, too.  The salty blood again.
Never mind.

I got a sickness one time.  A cancer of the spirit.  Wounds and flaps of skin hanging from my inside.  They rescued me with talk and strong drugs.  Then, you know, I couldn’t feel anything, really.  It’s better than bleeding out, right?  But, I digress.  They did save me, yes they did.  Now, the freezing’s coming out.  Some of those cut out flaps are still hanging, but they’re starting to scab over.  I do think.

No more band aids for now.



Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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