Occupancy

The grocery store air is a thick, yellow weight.

The chickens spinning behind the glass

smell like grease and a future

I didn't invite.

I bought the crackers instead.

Something dry to hold the floor steady

while the room decides to tilt

and my pulse gets loud in my ears.

Back home, the plastic stick sits on the sink.

That second line is a faint, pink slit,

hardly there at all,

like a paper cut that hasn't started to bleed.