The radiator is coughing up rust again

The radiator is coughing up rust again,

a rhythmic, metal rattle in the pipes

that sounds like something trying to breathe.

The receipt from the drugstore is three feet long,

curling across the pile of unpaid bills.

I watched the second pink stripe

bloom like a slow bruise across the window.

Two for the price of one,

though the one is already short on rent.

The blue cap rolled under the pedestal sink,

settling into a crack in the tile.

It’s a bright, plastic eye

staring at the impossibility of the math.