Slant

The clerk at the window pushed the pad back.

He didn't say it looked like a child's work,

just that the sensor didn't catch the track

of my name. I felt the familiar jerk

of the wrist, the way the 'S' in 'Soap'

doesn't stand up straight on the grocery list anymore.

It slumps like a spine that's given up hope,

leaning toward the bottom of the kitchen floor.

I watched the tail of a lowercase 'y'

drift off the line, a long, shaky hair.

My hand is forgetting how to try.

It just wants to leave the paper and hang in the air.