Audit

I reached for a glove in the lining

and pulled out a ghost instead.

A slip of thermal paper

with everything I’ve already read.

But the dryer has scorched it to black,

the ink is a smudge on the fold.

It’s a record of coffee or gas

that I’m no longer allowed to hold.

I paid for the moment and lost it.

Now I’m standing here in the hall,

with a pocket full of burnt evidence

that doesn’t mean anything at all.