Clipped Nails
Clip. Clip. Clip.
My hand squeezes the metal object.
As the bright yellow nails fall down
To the floor, disordered and thin,
The steel flashes. Light dances.
Because they’re not pink,
Because they don’t fit –.
Why? Just because.
Clip. Clip. Clip.
This poem is about:
Me
My community
My country
Our world