Unclaimed Property

The cashier held out her hand for the bill

and I gave her the ghost of a Tuesday.

A red ticket stub, the edges all frayed,

from the night the bar closed for good.

She looked at the '34' printed in black

and then back at my face, confused.

I tucked it back into the hidden flap,

next to the receipt for the oil change.

It’s the only thing that proves

we were actually there.