THE DAILY DEAL
by Sherry S.

What is the pleasure of the peel,
the crisp of skin that a fingernail
can lift like a potato chip?

Pastry flakes can also be mistaken
for my own, yet neither chips
nor flakes are what I shed.

Splotches of raised red
raise more so-called skin in scales
I must discard again and again.

I could fill a bag of Lay's
with what I produce, a glazed
doughnut's worth of crumbs

as I crumble outwardly,
stripping layers that don't know
how to stop forming.

Not removing them
results in buildup, a helmet
and armor of confinement.

Shedding it in the shower
combing it away after a four-hour
creaming brings brief relief

before unwanted resumption
of excess production
I deal with daily.