Crisper

The fluorescent light is a buzzing nerve

above the handle of the bottom drawer.

I wanted a snack, something to keep the brain

from chewing on itself for another hour.

Instead, I found the plastic bag,

slick and heavy with a dark, sour juice.

The peppers have surrendered their shapes,

slumping into a corner of the bin.

I reached in and my thumb went through the wall

of what used to be a bright, firm red.

The skin is pale and thin now,

clinging to the bag like wet tissue paper

someone used to wipe away a mess.