those dead layers of skin. They’re dried on
and peeling and making you itch. They’ve been pasted
to you as a cast to a broken bone. It looks like a coat
your mother has sewn. Many have spelled out words and

written their names. You’re toting around
the hall of fame. Liberation comes with release. It feels
like you’re holding back a sneeze. Or are you
remembering the burn? Those days when you stayed

out in the sun too long. When you were young
consequences were like gum. You could easily
swallow it, stick it under your desk at school or spit it out
the bus window at some passing by fool.