Damn, my book was in there!
I’ve burst open the packet:
Fear has leaked all over everything.
Should’ve known better than to pack it.

It’s impossible to get it out:
It clings and I can’t shake it off
It’s cold enough to sting the hands,
Such stupid sticky, trickly stuff.

I grab a towel and fiercely scrub away at it:
The smell — the stink — of fear still lingers,
Despite the apparent spotlessness
Of these fear-free fingers.