The Noise of Maintenance

The heater stopped its knocking sound,

the silence spread across the ground.

The pad thai’s cold, the lights are low,

we’ve run out of things we need to know.

Then I hear it—the wet and steady snap,

a piece of gristle caught inside a trap.

I watch your jaw, the muscle tight and lean,

working like a piece of old machine.

It’s just a sound, a little thing you do,

but suddenly I’m tired of looking at you.