by Jonathan B. Aibel
Pricking a line of halos,
the safety pin tracking order
down my left forearm,
ruby bright sparkles
that give focus,
straightness
the point of pride.
I steady my hand,
my impermanent brand.
So important
to remain straight,
so each blood jewel
twins the one before
Control descends
from my right hand.
And the left,
responsible
for not flinching
Jonathan B. Aibel is a poet who spends his days wrestling software to the ground as an engineer specializing in quality and testing. His poems have been published, or will soon appear, in Ocean State Review, Soundings East, Pangyrus, Sweet Tree Review, Rogue Agent, Main Street Rag, and elsewhere.
A-Minor 