That faded ticket clings

That faded ticket clings

under my windshield wiper,

edges curled like a note

I forgot to throw away.

Rain softened its yellow,

a stubborn scrap stuck in place,

a dull whisper of forgotten fines,

useless, but still holding on.

I almost peel it off,

but it scratches my fingers,

like a bad idea

you can’t stop thinking.

So it waits,

curling in the glass,

a ghost that refuses

to let me forget.