Aluminum on a dish that’s already gone cold
Sometimes, as gray as the eyepiece
of a telescope lens, useful in several ways.
The metal button on pants.
And others, driven over snow,
as each passing car paints
me into a shade darker than
the bright color I once was.
A picture without saturation.
I am gallium, just the warmth of
a gentle touch can melt me.
I am a dime, worth something
but once I get lost in the couch,
no effort would be made to take me out—
just a forgotten coin.
A stainless steel knife slowly going dull.
The ash of a cigarette, fading away.