The hum is back a low and steady drone

The hum is back, a low and steady drone

now that the grid has decided to behave.

I’m standing in the kitchen all alone

opening up a cold and plastic grave.

The bag of spinach has collapsed into ink,

a dark and heavy pool of liquid rot.

It’s enough to make a person blink

and forget every meal they ever bought.

There’s a grey-green fur on the expensive jam

blossoming under the lid like a quiet threat.

It shows me exactly where I am

and all the things I haven't cleared out yet.