i cut my thumb and finger.....super glued instead of stitches again....reminded me of a favourite poem by Syvila Plath.
CUT
What a thrill ----My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone Except for a sort of hinge Of skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle Carpet rolls Straight from the heart.
I step on it, Clutching my bottle Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is. Out of a gap A million soldiers run, Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they one?
O myHomunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to killThe thinPapery feeling.
Saboteur, Kamikaze man ----The stain on yourGauze Ku Klux Klan Babushka Darkens and tarnishes and whenThe balledPulp of your heartConfronts its small Mill of silence How you jump ----Trepanned veteran, Dirty girl, Thumb stump.