Metal Heat: An Ode to Soldering Iron
By Lorenzo Vasquez
the air
filled with acidic
fumes
in a confined
space I toil
with cancerous mist
sweet white
cloud-like puff
of smoke
from the dragon’s
tip of tongue
metal heat
melt the solder
a tool ready
to work for you
hold it in
inappropriate laces
only to feel
searing pain
an arrow
in a quiver
it warns that it’s
ready to strike
ready to burn
an ominous touch
a blister is born
from the ashy, chemical-covered
flesh of my fingers