Brittle seal

The lid was stuck, plastic on plastic, sealed

too tight. Leftover soup, still smelling faint

of last night's meal. I twisted, then peeled,

my fingers aching. No give, no quaint

pop of release. Just a sharp, ugly crack.

A white line, jagged, running through the top.

Now it won't seal, can't ever go back

to whole. Just a cheap container, ready to drop

its contents, spill its cold, old broth.

Disposable, that's the point, isn't it?

Made to break, like some kind of oath

I didn't know I'd made. Just bits.