The microwave is humming low

The microwave is humming low,

a yellow light inside the kitchen gloom.

The fridge has nowhere left to go,

the only tenant in the quiet room.

I peeled the lid and caught the rim,

a jagged edge across the skin.

The kitchen lights are getting dim

as the metallic salt sinks in.

A bead of red falls in the bowl,

blooming on the surface of the broth.

I’m trying to keep some small control

with a dirty piece of kitchen cloth.