[NaPoWriMo poem #2]

The Secret Terrace on a Thursday Afternoon

I cup my face against spring wind, jammed
into a corner. Disembodied voices in my earpiece

read the fine print. Six months of work slips
through my fingers every time I open my mouth.

Three tables away, a girl studying for a business
law exam looks up. She’s a model student

with a 3.5 GPA, I think. I should be more upset,
but instead my knees buckle under me and I hit

the concrete. Maybe you just have to let this go.
A squirrel runs up a nearby tree, jumping effortlessly

from branch to branch. They make change look so easy.
I can’t move more than a foot without breaking a toe.