The light in here is a humming green

The light in here is a humming green,

the color of a bruise that won't heal.

I’m sitting on the edge of the tub

waiting for the plastic to tell me

how the rest of my years will feel.

A pink line grew out of the white—

wait, it’s faint. Maybe I’m wrong.

No, it’s there. Solid and bright.

Outside, the neighbor's lab is barking

at the FedEx truck, or a ghost.

I feel like I’ve swallowed a stone

or a very heavy piece of dry toast.