Pulled it from the back a dented sphere

Pulled it from the back, a dented sphere,

its label peeling, something from last year.

Beans. Just beans. A meal I didn't crave,

a final offering, all I had to save.

The can opener's teeth, a scraping whine,

against the cheap metal, dull and thin.

It ripped the lid, a sharp, metallic sign

of where the edges of my world begin.

No cupboard stocked, no choices left to make.

Just this last one, for goodness sake.

Gravity pulls, the thick goo slides out slow.

A future measured by how far these tins can go.