Sodium and Lead

The ring-pull snapped. A clean, sharp fail.

I had to use the flat-head from the drawer

to gouge a mouth into the tin.

Now the stove-eye glows a tired red.

I watch the bubbles struggle to the top,

carrying the smell of salt and factory steam.

In the bowl, a ring of orange grease

clings to the rim like a shoreline.

I swallow the heat to feel something heavy

settling in the gut where the quiet usually lives.