“I’m not even touching the bait”

I’m three kinds of awkward:
the tack in the carpet
the crumb in your throat
the foot in my mouth

I’m dead silent down­cast eyes

I’m a steam train in a daisy meadow

my words are lepers
shunned
I’m infection

I’ve got so many jagged edges
no hole will ever be created
that could fit me.
And forget about tesselation.
That sort of smooth togetherness
will never be mine.

I’m the last piece of the jigsaw
the one that makes you
wonder if you’ve mis­placed some.

I’m sand in beach shoes:
shake me loose, free me.