Counting What’s Missing

I stood in the coffee shop, clutching my prize,

a paycheck that glimmers, yet dims in my eyes.

Like glittering sand, it slips through my grasp,

while laughter surrounds me, I’m caught in a clasp.

They spend without thought, each sip of their brew,

a dollar for comfort, while I count the few.

Each crumpled receipt, a reminder of plight,

a promise of joy that won't fit in the night.