White Noise

The linoleum is cold enough

to wake the parts of my brain

that should have been asleep by ten.

It is one in the morning and the only

thing speaking is the kitchen.

The magnetic seal on the freezer

is shivering against the frame,

a low-frequency panic

that matches the way my chest feels

when I think about Monday.

It’s a steady, mechanical grind,

doing the work of keeping things

from turning soft and ruined,

even when the rest of the world

is just waiting for the light to change.