Cheap Heat

Under the bed,

curled edges jagged and melted,

a toy warped by sun,

sticky, dumb, stubborn.

Fingers cling to its brittle warmth,

plastic softened like candy left too long.

A cheap thing forgotten,

holding some sick pulse

of heat, of lost summer

in its cracked skin.

It cracks again,

shards small and sharp,

a wound pressed

against the cold floor.