The Greenhouse Effect

The fridge stopped its hum during the lightning,

and the silence became a heavy thing,

pressing the kitchen air into my lungs.

I can smell the bottom shelf.

Something in the Tupperware is breathing,

stretching the green lid into a dome,

a plastic blister ready to pop

and ruin the Tuesday night.

It was probably beef once,

or a vegetable I promised to love.

Now it’s just a high-pressure system

waiting for me to lose my nerve.