Rust Despite

I bought the bucket because it said galvanized,

because the label promised it would last,

because I wanted something I could count on

to stay where I put it,

to do what it was supposed to do.

This morning I saw the first spots.

Small, orange, spreading from the bottom seam

like the metal is finally giving up,

like the coating that was supposed to protect it

is just a delay,

a postponement of what was always going to happen.

I knew better. I know how this works.

Everything rusts eventually.

Everything fails.

But I wanted to believe in the galvanized bucket.

I wanted one thing to be reliable.

The rust is spreading now, three weeks later.

It's not slowing down.

The bucket that was supposed to be permanent

is becoming temporary,

becoming something I'll have to replace,

becoming just another broken promise

from a manufacturer who didn't mean it,

who was just selling me hope

in the shape of a bucket.

I could buy a new one.

Could go through the whole cycle again,

buy another galvanized bucket,

tell myself that this time it will be different,

this time it will actually last.

But I know how this story ends.

Everything fails.

Everything rusts.

Even the things that say they won't.

The bucket is sitting by the back door,

slowly disappearing,

and I'm just watching it happen,

waiting for the moment when it's too far gone to use,

waiting to replace it,

waiting for the next thing to break.