Small Exchange

The red light glared.

I dug in the console, frantic,

cursing the one-seventy-five

I never have, just singles,

and the quiet shame of holding up

the three cars behind me.

Her hand, pale, almost thin,

reached out for the coin.

An older woman, tired at best,

collecting change for miles to come.

And just like that, another bit

of me was gone.