Automatic Renewal

Another email hit the box today,

a little digital bill to pay.

That obscure journal, poetry for few,

I signed up once, but haven't read it through.

Six months, maybe more, since I last clicked,

my interest in their verses just got tricked.

Now thirty bucks, just gone, a simple fee,

for thoughts unread, a silent misery.

The tiny link, 'Cancel Subscription,' low,

a promise of escape I never go

and click. It sits there, waiting, cold and small,

a digital chain, to catch me in its fall.

I let it happen, again and again,

a quiet tax on what I might have been.