A Parking Ticket

I scrounged for change in my pocket that day,

but it vanished like thoughts, just drifting away.

A slip stuck under glass, bright orange and bold,

like a bad joke turned real, bitter story retold.

The wind sweeps the paper, a flapping regret,

a reminder of timing I’d rather forget.

Each number I write feels like fortune undone,

another small moment where luck didn’t run.