Snagged

Don't tell me it’s a sign of anything.

It’s just high-density polyethylene

caught on a rusted barb of the fence.

It doesn't glide. It whips.

The sound is a dry, frantic rattle,

a throat trying to cough up

a piece of the winter air.

It’s stained with something brown

at the bottom, stretched thin and white,

looking less like a ghost

and more like a mistake that won't tear.