Sixty dollars for a meter running out

Sixty dollars for a meter running out

on a street where I've parked before.

I came back to find what the ticket's about:

red ink and my plate number, nothing more.

All afternoon I stayed angry—

not at the fine itself, but the size of it,

the way something so small and hungry

could take money like it was meant for it.

I paid. I always pay.

There's nothing else to do.

The system has its way,

and so I paid what's due.