Inventory

The bottle sits behind the tap.

There is a thin, plastic scrap

hanging from the cap

by a single thread of glue.

Sixty tablets left inside.

The date on the label lied.

The bathroom tile is white and wide.

The clock is ticking in the hall.

I don’t know why I haven’t tossed

the tally of the thing I lost.

The mirror’s silver film is crossed

with a smudge from my own palm.