The Weight of Unused Purpose

The box was heavy.

A slick cardboard weight

against my hip,

wet at the corner

where it slipped

in the rain.

I watched the line,

a slow crawl

to the blank face.

A piece of sticker still

on the plastic,

my fingernail

gouged it off.

Cold, smooth,

this thing,

meant for a purpose

it never found.

Like a failed organ.

A silence

I paid for,

and now,

undid.