The Five Second Rule

It’s 3:00 AM and the linoleum is cold.

I was reaching for the sleeve on the counter

when the last saltine slipped my hold

and hit the tile like a spent encounter.

I didn't even think about the dirt

or the fact that I haven't swept in a week.

I just wanted something dry and curt

to stop the way my stomach started to leak.

I picked it up and saw the dog hair there,

a thin black wire pressed into the grain.

I ate it anyway, standing in my underwear,

while the faucet hummed a low, metallic strain.