Cycle of Cooling

The compressor kicks in with a shuddering rattle

that makes the loose magnets on the door slide.

I’ve given up tonight on the social battle,

choosing this cold kitchen to crawl back inside.

I pull the handle and lean my forehead on the shelf,

letting the white light bleach the floor and my face.

It’s a low, grinding song the machine sings to itself,

a mechanical shivering that fills up the space.

The vegetable crisper is vibrating against the wall,

a plastic-on-plastic hum that’s steady and deep.

I have no hunger, no one to answer, nothing at all

but this heavy vibration that won’t let me sleep.