The pilot light is out and the kitchen is thin

The pilot light is out and the kitchen is thin,

I’m standing in my coat by a cylinder of tin.

The opener grinds a mechanical song,

at a time of night when everything’s wrong.

A neighbor’s dog gives a single, sharp yelp,

while I stir the salt and look for some help.

The orange grease ring on the side of the mug

is a stain I can’t fix with a simple shrug.