Cost of Living

The car is doing that clicking thing again,

a metal tongue tapping against the rain.

I’m staring at the receipt, the ink already

running into a blur of numbers I can't fix.

Inside the bag, a single shell has quit.

It’s leaked a clear, cold slime

across the white cardboard, a slow

disaster that cost me six bucks and change.

I should go back and ask for a swap,

but the engine is warm and I’m tired

of explaining why things shouldn't

arrive already broken.