[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.