A Weighted Prism

Midday heat bathed the metal tabletop. A discarded clear acrylic receipt spike stood near the rim, weighed down by an intact glass salt cellar. I approached the cylinder and planted both feet against the mesh. Leaning my shoulder firmly into the ridged glass base, I pivoted the shaker three inches clockwise until its faceted side caught the noon glare. The transparent prism bent the light directly across the upright chrome spoon behind me, splitting the beam into a brilliant amber arc across my chest. The assembly holds firm.