These damn plastic produce bags
They won’t ever budge open
Until I stick my fingers in the ice of the broccoli
And use that water to pry open
A trick my ex taught me
When he saw me huffing and puffing
Struggling near cursing
Trying to hold onto the last of my independence
Now every time these damn bags won’t open
I stare bare
At all the mundane moments
That makes up a marriage
Like the carriage we pulled
And pulled and pulled
Finally, giving way
Into an explosion of erosion
