Expiration

Third time I poured it out at seven.

Watched the white go gray and thin.

The smell arrives before the pour does—

honest, original, and then

I rinsed the jug and stood it upright

in the bin beside the door.

It sat there like it was still expecting

something I'd forgotten what for.

The first time I said bad week.

The second, buy the quart.

The third time the refrigerator hummed

and I stood there, caught

in the kitchen that was very quiet

the way a kitchen gets

when it belongs to only one person

who keeps forgetting what that is yet.

I turned the faucet off.

The smell was almost gone.

Almost is the word for everything

I'm still apparently working on.