Aluminum
is the color of the Baltimore sky
the day I drive to Hopkins,
the day they scalpel the cyst
from my thigh,
the day I learn the cancer
might be back.
Let’s wait for the results
the doctor says in his steely tone.
In the parking lot
I cry mercurial tears.
The pizza place serves my slice
on an aluminum plate.
A thatch of scratches,
a dent or two,
its silvery shine reminds
me of a Pontiac hubcap
I found once
by the side of the road.
It also looks like a frisbee.
I want to snatch it,
to tantrum-toss it,
to watch it spiral away
into the fading aluminum sky.
© Mel Edden
Mel Edden is a British poet who has lived in Maryland for twenty years. Her poems appear in Gargoyle, Welter, WWPH Writes, Bay to Ocean Journal, FotoSpecchio and elsewhere. She runs the Manor Mill poetry open mic and reading series in Monkton, MD and edits their anthology Poets of Manor Mill. A 2025 Best of the Net nominee, Mel is currently working towards her first solo collection.
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