AN INSIDE JOB

by Sherry Sheehan   

A finger tunnels in, identifies the rough parts
its nail knows want to be removed – barnacles
of ear-canal skin built up, run amuck, regrowing
daily, silently, no matter how often the fingernail
has its way. This is not like picking your nose
as a kid, a noiseless operation no one could hear,
not even you. Skin is not snot. Separating the ear
cave’s crusty layer from what’s underneath yields
a sound at lift-off like a wave breaking gently,
Velcro detaching, a tire scrunching gravel, or
the first crackle of teeth meeting potato chips.
Working with precision and delicacy, one can 
sometimes extract a skin curl decorated by
a patina of wax. Backwards, the letters of skin
misspell nicks, which one must try not to inflict.
Backwards, the letters of snot spell tons, which
leads to a question for the dermatological
detective: If the normal human sheds 9 lbs.
of skin a year, how many pounds can a psoriatic
mine from two afflicted ears? In this aural
‘roto-rooter’ imitation, is the weight of wax
included in the sum of the annual equation?

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