The counter bites back

The counter bites back,

white Formica cracked,

yellow core bleeding through.

Knuckles scrape—

a sudden puncture,

scrambled mornings split.

Toast flips, nerves fray,

coffee slips like spilled secrets,

drips run paths down the chip's spine.

Edges jagged,

splintered light on cracked gloss,

a small wound

where calm used to be.