Coffee Grounds and Steel

It was just a paperclip, bent.

I tossed it. Into the pail.

Then the thought, a sudden rent,

Grandma's letter. No avail.

My hand went in. Cold. Slimy. Wet.

Old coffee, rind, a squishy thing.

A small, dark regret.

Forgetting what a bent wire could bring.

I found it, cold steel, mud-brown grime.

A salvaged shape. A small,

unworthy shrine. This time,

I'd hold it. Before it fell.