comparing scars

her one leg
had a deep scar,
almost a fleshy
ravine in it,
running
down the thigh
bone.
motorcycle,
she says, seeing
you staring
at the straight
line with dotted
stitches
the color
of a white fish.
pass me
the ketchup
she says, then
makes a red
patterned grid
on top
of her egg omelet.
do you have any
scars, she
says, before
taking a bite
of her breakfast.
yes, you say,
holding out your
thumb.
crab claw got me,
couldn't shake
it off.