Flicker and Pop

The kitchen light flickered once, just a stutter.

Then a sharp, loud pop,

like something breaking clean.

Darkness, immediate, stark.

No warning, just gone.

The filament, a tiny broken hair

inside the glass. A faint, burnt dust

smell, acrid in the sudden gloom.

It’s always like that, isn't it?

The thing you rely on,

just stops. No grand exit,

just a click and a hard, cold dark.