Counting Eggs in Rising Cost

Carton slides down the cold conveyor—

a soft thud like the weight of something unwelcome.

Digits flash cold: numbers climbing slow,

the quiet arithmetic of mornings growing cruel.

Plastic clings fragile under stark bulbs,

the carton a fragile promise cracking at the seams.

Every price jump is a small jab

in the gut—silent but persistent.

Eggs aren’t just breakfast anymore,

they’re debt in shells, fragile and sharp.

I watch the cashier’s hands, mechanical,

as the total climbs and climbs,

a tally of all the small things

that keep slipping away,

while the world hums indifferent

under buzzing fluorescent lights.