Naked Protection

Small words are often arrogant—
Life and death, time and space, that sort.

What if we formed a little club,
A private circle in this poem,

Where only humble small words fit—
Skin, dirt, dust, socks, that sort of thing.

Let’s pull off our shoes and socks,
Bare the soft skin we’ve been shielding

From that dirt and dust. Soft is not
Really a sin. It can be torn

And make you wish you’d hidden it,
But it grew first to shield you first,

Now, didn’t it? Give it a chance.
Pluck your heart out off your sleeve

And roll up your sleeve to show this—
Bare is your first and last defense.