Spoiled White

I poured the carton out to fix my cup,

expecting just a splash of heavy cream.

But feathered clumps began to bubble up

and ruin every bit of the morning dream.

It hit the coffee in a curdled cloud,

a sour smell that filled the quiet sink.

The plastic jug was heavy and was loud

clattering against the metal brink.

We try to feed the hunger with the old,

ignoring dates stamped clearly on the side.

I watched the white go lumpy and go cold

and wondered what else I have let slide.