secret motel

I have a black eye and scratched nose, minor injuries sustained over the weekend in secret motel. I had four or five poems spread out on the table and was shuffling them around, making small surgical edits here and there. There was one where I cut the wrong line, and the whole goddamn poem blew up in my face. I'm lucky I didn't lose an eye or break my nose. I returned to work yesterday and was questioned by many co-workers about my injuries. Of course, I told them I had been in a fight--because it amuses me to think that someone like me could successfully cultivate a rough-and-tumble mystique.