Monosyllabic

The battery is dead in the driveway slush.

My sister called to say she’s staying home.

I watch the toilet handle’s broken flush

and the way the detergent starts to foam.

I type the word until the letters blur,

a four-point fence to keep the neighbors out.

I’m 'fine' with him and I’m 'fine' with her,

and I’m 'fine' with everything I doubt.

It’s like the porcelain sink in the guest bath,

cracked down the middle but holding the light.

A hairline fracture on a narrow path

that looks like it might just survive the night.