Surplus

The screen at the ATM didn't turn red.

I walked through the grocery store

and threw the expensive cheese in the cart,

the kind wrapped in wax.

I have the rent. I have the electric.

And yet, I stood by the batteries

thinking about how easy it would be

to slide a pack into my sleeve.

Just to feel my pulse for a second.

The receipt is a long, thermal tongue

licking my hand as I walk to the car.