Daffodil

A wound becomes a meal, the arrow of betrayal festers in the eye

Daffodil

Less is the point.

Life—
a sharp arrow
poking my hazel iris.

The pupil splits.

Skin, egg-fragile,
cracks the shell.

Yolks burst free,
a daffodil confession.

Cast iron bars
hold the scramble,
hissing with delight.

Fool’s gold
spitting in the pan.

A poor American meal—

served up
for your

parasite palate.

The arrow
festers
in my stye.