A Paper Cut

Lost in the great WritersCafe crash of 2007, now restored but only half-remembered

His hands are for turning the earth

Mine are for turning pages

Black scars mark his fingers

I have a paper cut

 

He works in darkness at the seam

With swollen arms

And bleeding palms

But never complaining,

I joined a gym to get in shape

They have free coffee and Sky TV

But tonight it's raining and I can't be arsed

 

He scrubs, I steam

A scalding tub to get him clean

In winter he'd never see the sun -

I'm leafing through a brochure

Dreaming of an island

And getting a paper cut

 

My thumb aches from my iPod's scroll wheel

Designed with me in mind

His thumbnail is black

From a missed hammer strike

-How do our hands evolve,

From instruments of toil

To instruments of leisure?

 

His spine is bowed, he's on his side

He's picking at the face

Wheezing, blinking in the dust

They say my back must be in comfort

When I'm pushing my pen 

So they bring me a catalogue...

But all it does is give me

Another paper cut 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Donald Meikle]

s'nice t'know y'place in life 'n papercuts er narsty.

[Fantasyfairy]

glad you found this, it would be a shame to see it disappear. I remember when you first wrote this one, it had a big impact on me the second time of reading it as the first time. Such a thoughtful piece about the change in generations. Nicely written. XX

[Emily B]

A co-worker was telling me about his father-in-law the other day. He started in the coal mines of Eastern Kentucky when he was twelve. By the time he was 43, he was completely spent. Who are we to complain of paper cuts?

I'm glad you found this again.