What they don't tell you about Androcles
is the vast number of lions
and foxes
and squirrels
with thorns
stuck in their paws
tails and snouts

For every creature finds a thorn
during its incautious travel
through the woods
burrs collected in the fields

and even some
carried by the wind

When the puller of thorns
spends too long
or is too far away

the creatures chew at their fur
hoping to draw enough blood
that maybe this slight tide
will wash the injury out across the red sea
spilling on the ground around them

Not every thorn takes the hint
some stay lodged
working their way deeper
using instinct to find an artery to the heart
where once nestled
it can stun the heroic muscle
into premature sleep
stopping the miraculous animation
turning movement
into a fruit
that will rot
and become a meal for the seed
the thorn carries within it

Some thorns are just thorns
the knives and bullets of nature
an invading genital
an open or closed hand
repeated harsh words

The small creatures who carry these thorns
have no fur to chew against
no fangs to rip
no sea to open into
except deeper within

where the waves push their remaining warmth
toward either pole
northern anger or southern pain
where it accumulates
into icebergs and frozen tundra

a home for the most ferocious feelings
known on earth

Where even Androcles
cannot travel in his Biblical sandals
and thin cloth wrap

This is not a world
where fairy tales need apply
the pullers of thorns
wear blue uniforms
or white smocks

though some have been known
to sit in cafes and parks
scribbling prescriptions on lined yellow paper
using number two lead pencils

others strum mystical instruments
making a music
that vibrates inside our souls
forcing the thorns to the surface
where with luck
the thorn falls out by itself

A few lucky ones
find an experienced partner
with steady hand and eye
a knower of thorns
a sower of seeds

But the best hope
in this world of steely thorns
is that a still better breed of thorn puller
is waiting within the wings of each of us
with tungsten pliers or other alloyed utensils

Pain is the uneasy map
we thorn-ed creatures
must use to find our way
as we travel north or south
away from our frozen-ness
away from our pain and anger

to eventually look in the mirror
of a still pond or shimmering glass
and see an Androcles
that looks just like us