Liquid Gold

The glass door hums a low, flat C,

a cold that bites the knuckle bone.

I scan the screen and wait to see

how much I’m meant to stand alone.

I put the brown ones back, the kind

with shells that hold a heavy weight.

I take the white, the thin-skinned find,

and hope they make it to the plate.

A carton dropped three aisles away

has left a yellow, shaking eye

upon the floor, where light can play

and watch the hungry world go by.