Corrosion

The lights went out with a crack

that felt like the house breaking its ribs.

I reached for the Maglite,

the heavy, cold weight of the metal.

Nothing.

I twisted the cap and the salt

spilled out—a crust of blue-white sugar,

the battery’s slow, quiet suicide.

The smell is a penny on the tongue,

a sharp, chemical rot that sticks

to the creases of my palm.

Even the light is rusting from the inside.