Vacuum Sealed

It was rolling under the spare tire,

a dented cylinder of forgotten Tuesday.

The paint is flaked off the bottom,

revealing the dull, honest rust of a bad year.

I had to use the pipe wrench on the lid.

When it gave, the air didn't rush in—

it rushed out, thick with fermented lentils

and the cold, gray smell of the passenger seat.

I haven't been that hungry in a long time.

I look at the sludge in the stainless steel gut

and wonder how many other things I've left

to rot in the dark while the world stayed shut.