Issue Of The Fee

Rusted railings and steps remain
upright, but unattached to anything,
and the fine dust that rolls off
the wind creates a metallic sound
when it comes into contact with
the burnt red skeleton.
There is a silvery cloud hovering
above the the liquor store and at
its edges there are soft points that
move to a rhythm not in line with
the breeze. I watch a man, standing
next to his car, count the waving
fingers all individually. Ironically,
he uses his own to keep track.
I am having severe anxiety about
asking for a replacement library card.
My old one is probably covered in tiny black pebbles,
and much bigger chunks of dried vomit.
I left it like that, and every time
I try to approach the librarian about it
I get thrown off by the fact that she
looks like she’d be disappointed
if I told her the truth.
I guess I could be wrong about that,
but there’s also the issue of the fee.

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