A Pome a Day for a Year

Actually a box cut, as in,
was crumpling the box for my catfood
(goodness do we go through a ton so fast,
our happy portly cats)
and as I did so,
cardboard with the sharpness of
Stewart Lee, happened to greet my middle digit
and bam! Now I type in an awkward stance,
with fingers falling over keys
in the fashion of rocks tumbling
from the top of a construction site
due to weathered straps on the lifting device.

Ouch! Typing is a mistake,
this was a bad choice, but wait! I work in IT
I type all day! Now what?!
I must brave the clashes of skin on plastic,
I must stoically hit my cut,
thin and tiny and thunderous,
and contain the calls!
I am a warrior figure!
This army of one can take on
this lone wolf of injury, for I must soldier.