Sonnet For Globe People and Their Carers
by Zachary Blair
Some people are born with crowbars in their mouths,
fulcrumming out of their mothers
and opening the chests of anyone they find
to get a gander at their hearts.
Some people are born with screwdrivers for feet,
poking holes in floors. They lay back—tightening
the sides of furniture until things ring steady,
and would-be splinters creak.
I was born inside a snow globe, shaking
until the world was a slurry that great drivers fear.
Sometimes I crack—spill myself onto the floor
in front of you—and rush to clean the mess before you notice.
You tell me you like plastic seahorses and little glitter stars
as you help me unspool paper towels and put hot glue on glass.