9/10ths of a Cent

The neighbors were tearing the drywall down

with just their voices. I had to leave.

The gauge was a red needle, a warning

I finally took.

At 3:15, the pump hums a low, sick note.

A moth is hitting the yellow plastic

over and over, a tiny, frantic fist

trying to get inside the light.

Under my boot, the oil slick

swirls purple and green in the rain,

beautiful and poisonous,

waiting for the drain to take it.