Expired Dribble

The fridge made that sound, a tired sigh,

when I pulled the carton out this morning.

Just a dribble, thin and weak,

like a bad excuse. Poured it in the mug,

watched the dark coffee cloud

to that pale, watery tan.

Then I saw the date. Yesterday.

And the flecks. Tiny, almost

invisible, but they were there.

Little curdled islands floating

on the surface, a betrayal.

It happens. You run out. You think

you have more time. And then it's done,

or worse, it's just a little bit off.

Not quite right. Too late to fix it.

Just sits there, cooling in the mug.

A silent, tiny disappointment.