Takeout

The parking lot lights are buzzing like flies.

I’m not ready for the hallway or the stairs,

so I sit with the engine off, watching the bag.

The burger was salt and gristle and heat.

Now the bottom of the sack is turning clear.

A jagged island of yellow oil

is swallowing the red 'Thank You' printed on the side,

making the paper go limp and see-through,

revealing the crumbs of a life I’m still living.