Cure Time

Two months ago I put the tube

under the sink like an intention.

The gap around the bathroom window —

just a thread of cold air at night,

nothing that would kill you,

just there, the way a small thing

makes itself known without asking.

Today the tip had hardened shut.

I spent ten minutes on the floor

with a wire, trying to clear it,

the gun across my knee,

a smear of dried white on the tile

from when I'd tested it weeks ago

and thought: Sunday.

There are a lot of Sundays in two months.

I threw the whole thing in the trash.

The window has the same gap.

The cold still comes through at night the same as before

and I could go back to the hardware store —

twelve minutes, I know,

I looked it up when I bought the first one.

I won't go.

There's a word for this

but I'm not the one who's going to say it.