The Fridge

Low enough to be a carpet to an ant,

I used to feel empowered.

These days, I possess

barely enough energy to nap.

-

After another troubled night, these tired eyes are scratched

at by street lights. They search for some small

serving, some small semblance

of hope. They find nothing. The night passes, but

only oh so slowly.

-

The next day arrives, unwanted, yearning. At the

sight of the sun, my stomach sinks another

quarter inch deep. The flat Pepsi in the fridge is

just a little less inviting. I’ll stay in bed today, there’s so

little use in fighting.