Longitude

The laptop shows me Vik,

black sand and basalt pillars

where the North Atlantic grinds its teeth.

But the kitchen sink has a rhythmic tick,

a metal stutter that won't stop,

leaking silver into the drain.

The water department's envelope is soggy,

stuck to the countertop like a dead leaf.

Cheap flights are popping up on the screen,

promising glaciers and cold, clean air

while I stare at a stack of late notices

and a faucet that needs a washer I can't afford.