Metal in the Bottle

I was looking for the space heater,

poking through the dust and the dead spiders,

when I knocked over the box from the move.

An old pill bottle rolled out,

heavy as a lead sinker.

Inside, there wasn't any relief for a headache.

Just jagged teeth of gray metal,

shrapnel he'd pulled out of his own leg

or maybe just picked up off the dirt.

It still smells like old oil and wet earth,

a sharp, cold secret kept in the dark

long after the man who bled for it is gone.