Tin

The fridge is a cold, dark box of nothing

so I went to the back of the shelf.

The opener is dull, it skips and bites,

leaving a trail of jagged silver teeth

around the rim of the peaches.

The lid hangs by a sliver of tin,

dripping heavy syrup onto my thumb.

It’s not much of a meal,

but it’s something that didn’t rot

when the power cut out.