Adhesive

The jaw-ache starts behind the ear.

I keep my teeth locked

while Sarah talks about the new floors,

the five-year plan for the guest room.

The husband is quiet,

moving peas around his plate.

I can still see the text on his screen—

the one he thought he swiped away.

She picks at the beer bottle,

her nail finding the edge

until the label comes off in a wet,

ragged strip of gray.