Static Cling

The box was just a box,

thin cardboard for a tiny thing.

But inside, a whole sea of white,

peanuts,

light as air, but full of something

hollow.

I picked one up,

it jumped to my finger,

stuck there,

like a thought you can't shake,

or a bad decision

that keeps coming back.

It felt cheap,

and yet,

it won't go away.

Just floats,

a million tiny ghosts

of packaging,

clinging.