I kicked the analog base in the dark and it sang

I kicked the analog base in the dark and it sang

a flat, heavy note against the bathroom grout,

a sound like a bucket hitting a well.

My belt has been a hot wire around my waist

for ten hours of scanning boxes and I didn't want

the mechanical truth of the thing, but there it is—

the red needle vibrating between two black lines

like a panicked pulse, weighing the cheap bread,

the salt, the three years I’ve spent standing still.