Holding It Together

The modem is a plastic, blinking eye

that watches every hour of the day go by.

The connection’s dead, the bill is surely paid,

but the tiny light has flickered into shade.

I take the silver paperclip and bend

the metal till it reaches a jagged end.

I poke the hole and feel the click inside,

hoping the wire has nothing left to hide.

It's a small, sharp needle in a shaking hand,

trying to fix a life I didn't plan.