deconstructing

We all worked diligently to take the time-bomb apart
nimble fingers picking at coils and bolts.
Tracey wore a red bandanna and kept on humming
some sweet and melancholy tune
so that when we got to the feathers we knew it was only a
matter of minutes, merely a matter of minutes.
Our fingers grew sore extracting those sand-piper organs,
so delicate and small.
Who knew there would be so many tucked between the
plastic-coated wire mazes? Hidden heartstrings and capillaries.
In that moment we were all surgeons--
even Tracey held quiet her tune.

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