The Detritus

There was a drag, a slight catch,

walking home tonight.

Something snagged, a dark patch,

clinging with all its might.

I didn't see it then, just felt

the grit, the low resistance.

A truth that seemed to melt,

beyond my own insistence.

Now on the kitchen floor it lies,

a smear, a flattened mass.

A small, insistent prize,

refusing to let pass.

This sticky, dark residue,

a constant, dull complaint.

Something I can't undo,

marked with a grim restraint.