In the world of a thousand cuts,
those with nine hundred
are happy and whole.

Soldiers of the ordinary,
you bandage your wounds in the sickly dawn.
Hide them well; yours are the scars
that no one loves or wants to see.
A root canal, a license suspension,
a burglary, termites, appendicitis
are only details of a life.

You are not one of the truly wounded—
those who are beaten, slashed and starved
by those who gave themselves the right.
Do what you must to keep them alive.
Arising from their ragged flesh
are history, nations, creeds.

Your job is to sweat
more than you bleed.