Sliver

A small challenge of getting old.

The rage of broken windows
Broken things scattered on the floor
Tainted the carpet
With tiny shards of glass
that will lie in wait for days
Or weeks
Until an unsuspecting foot
Comes along and swallows it
In a stinging step.
It’s clear corpse
Hiding, invisible under the skin
While fading eyes guide shaky fingers
Trying to extract the stubborn sliver