Poem: Striking The Match

Striking The Match

A magician once tossed me a matchbox
and asked me to light one.  I had not
volunteered, was not read
for the request.  I was not
experienced with striking matches
and being uncoordinated,
I could not get it to work.  He looked
at me from the stage, annoyed,
made a joke about me.  I know
it was only his need
to keep the show going,
he did not intend anything,
but I was wounded enough
to go out and buy
a whole box for myself,
to practice so I might never
feel that again, at least
not over an unlit flame.

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