Inventory

The fridge is vibrating—no, it’s my molars,

or maybe the floorboards are just giving up.

I poured the milk before I checked the box,

a rookie mistake, or just a symptom

of whatever this week is trying to do to me.

There’s one Cheerio. Just one.

It’s floating in the center of the white,

a soggy little life raft, beige and hollow.

I’m just... watching it.

I’m waiting for the weight of the milk to win.