Lithium Heavy

The fridge is humming a flat, low C,

a sound that fills up the kitchen’s hollow gut.

I pick up the glass slab, checking to see

if the gates of the world are still bolted and shut.

It’s warm in my hand, a feverish weight,

counting the battery down to the bone.

It’s a anchor of silicon, wire, and hate

for a man who is terrified to be alone.

The blue light wakes up the dust on the wood,

casting long shadows of things left unsaid.

I’d throw it away if I thought that I could,

instead of this vigil for a screen that is dead.