Wound Inspector

Jesus came back from the dead,
and Thomas said “let me see your hands,”
and stuck his finger into the holes
the nails had made, and believed.

I believe in anatomy.
There are rats scurrying
along the corridors of my arms,
my legs. I can’t sit still. 
My mind churns
like an ice cream maker.
The ants crave sugar
and make their nests.

If you put a nail in my hand,
and put your ear near the hole,
you’ll hear a sound
like a sigh.

The ants are breeding,
and I am losing focus.
I’ll say this only once: 
Don’t investigate my wounds. 
The rats will nip your finger off.