by Richard Matta
forgotten will be the steel
grip, the battering the head
and threads took as it
held fast to secure and preserve
as best it could under relentless
stresses seen and silent
for a rusted screw won’t
leave in peace—
it bleeds and stains without
regard, it’s red head strips
leaving stubborn shaft, requires
special tools to drill it out
and that’s all we’ll remember
Richard Matta grew up in New York, attended the University of Notre Dame, and is now living in San Diego, California. His work is found in San Diego Poetry Annual, Dewdrop, Little Old Ladies (humor), and Healing Muse.
