Silver Wrapper

The quiet hum.

Fluorescent ceiling,

a flat white sun.

I peeled the foil,

sound tearing through.

Each ridge, a coil,

reflecting light, sharp, new.

Someone’s hands.

A hurried fold.

Metallic sheen expands,

a story, untold.

Then crumpled,

a small moon.

It catches,

on the desk, the afternoon.