White box that fights back

The takeout container screams under my squeeze,

crumpling with a brittle snap.

It folds and folds like brittle skin,

a ghost of food trapped in plastic white.

My fingers press the hollow shell

that wants to break but fights to stay whole,

a brittle fortress made for single use.

Each crack a small rebellion,

waiting for the trash bin’s cold swallow,

a container that knows it’s doomed

the moment it’s born, fighting back

against the careless touch of a late dinner.