Sharp Edges and Scraps

The box is crushed on one end,

the cardboard teeth gone dull and bent.

I pull a silver sheet to mend

the dinner that I never meant

to burn. But the roll catches and splits,

a jagged lightning bolt of thin

and useless metal. These silver bits

are too small to keep the flavor in.

It screeches against the plastic core,

a high-pitched, metallic, biting sound.

I leave the scraps upon the floor

and let the silence settle round.