The dryer is eating my last few minutes

The dryer is eating my last few minutes

and I’m digging through my pockets for a miracle.

I find it—a damp, grey knot of paper

that went through the heavy cycle.

It doesn't feel like money anymore.

It feels like a used tissue, or skin

shucked off a snake.

I try to smooth it flat on the folding table

but it stays wrinkled, a limp ghost of a dollar

that the machine refuses to swallow.