Halfway Caught

The metal teeth

a hungry line,

but halfway up

they won't align.

I pull the tab,

a useless fight,

my knuckles white

with all my might.

It jams right there,

a stubborn wall,

a tiny crisis,

making me fall

into this rage,

this small sharp sound

of grinding teeth

on hollow ground.

The bag hangs open,

gaping wide.

No closing it,

no place to hide

what's spilled inside.

Just stuck, you see.

Like everything

that's holding me.