Spray

I was talking about the margins, the lean—

actually, I was shouting about the year-end clean.

Then I saw it, a clear, wet bead of me

sitting on his leather like a drop of debris.

The fluorescent light turned it into a spark,

a tiny, bright star on a sea of calfskin dark.

He didn't wipe it. He just let it sit.

I lost my place and nearly had a fit.