Suspended Animation

The light inside the glass is a sick, clinical blue.

It buzzes like a fly trapped behind a screen

while I wait for the surgeon to come out

and tell me why the world is stopping.

The coffee machine is out of order,

so I’m staring at a bag of honey-roasted peanuts.

It’s caught on the very edge of the spiral,

dangling by a single plastic tooth.

Somebody left a forehead smudge on the glass,

a greasy ghost of a long, desperate night.

We’re all just hanging here, I think,

waiting for the machine to give us a little nudge.