Claims

The girl at the counter waits

while I dig past the leather folds.

I pull out a slip for a coat

I dropped at a Goodwill bin in June.

The purple ink has started to run,

a bruised smudge where my thumb

always presses against the plastic window.

I don't need the wool anymore,

but I keep the claim check tucked

behind my driver’s license

where the purple ink stains the plastic.