by C. Late
three soldiers in tinfoil jackets
roasting on the bottom oven rack
she’d cut the ends off one too long for its own good
hacked chunks from the pudgy pocked one
sliced the largest of the lot into quarters
pulling used foil from a crumpled stash she
manhandled the starchy meal
into silver uniforms
tried to unwrap and uncrinkle
but eventually abandoned hope
supper could be smooth or smartly dressed
when the oven sang out its warning
she skinned them from the foil
burned fingers in her haste to separate
what she’d spent so much energy on
wadded up the bits she couldn’t reuse and
chucked ‘em in the bin
the bin
it’s where most of us find ourselves
after a relationship
sharing space with those silver skins
not fitting any better than the aluminum did
her and her meal prep
her and her insistence others should hide
what she plans to devour
C. Late has serious punctuality issues. This doesn’t stem from a lack of respect, isn’t a result of over-scheduling, and C loves you—yes, you—specifically. But time is weird, and time is difficult.
You have been warned.
C. is attracted to spooky shit and fidget toys. They can be found on bluesky at @c-late.bsky.social
An earlier version of this poem appeared in A Glimpse into Anywhere: A Compilation of Selected Poems by Billy Collins’s MasterClass Students (2019).