Freezer Burn

The damp smell of cardboard,

cold from the freezer aisle,

caught me unloading dinner.

A kind of metallic,

stale air, thin and sharp.

And I was back there,

in the parking lot,

the shift just done,

my hands still cold.

The blue glow of the phone

in the dark,

your name a line

of indifferent text.

"It's over."

Just like that.

The smell of the loading dock,

a ghost on my skin,

and the words,

cold.