When I run out of answers
I look at the skin around my hands.
I study the swirling contours
like unfamiliar lines on a tourist map
and follow the shadow of vein rivers
in the disgusting translucent patches.
I feel sick at the thought
of how many things they’ve touched
until I remember they’ve fixed
as many things they’ve broken
and get to hold the thin limbs of a creature
who will show me what’s what.
© Carl Burkitt 2020