Stain

by Chris Butler

I am a stain,
distinguished from the
others, with thick rusted
veins and cuts squirting
ketchup onto blue jeans,
but for the most part,
tattooing myself across
the surface of this earth.

I am bathed
with soapy suds of boiling
bleach and lemon-scented
ammonia, submerged in the
kitchen sink, only pulling
the rubber stopper
plugging the drain,
when I’m clean.