Small Breakage

The cheap wine, pale,

poured over cubes.

Another Tuesday, the light grew stale.

I heard the rubs

of plastic on glass.

Then, a sharp, quick snap.

A tiny splinter, hard to pass

as just a happenstance.

One cube split neat,

down the middle, clean.

Loud in the quiet, a small defeat.

What did it mean?

Just ice, of course.

Just a moment's shard.

But it held a force,

a quiet, broken card.