Maintenance

The man in the windbreaker is losing his mind

over a three-dollar difference at the counter.

He shifts his weight and his pocket gives a rattle,

the hollow sound of plastic against plastic,

the percussion of the desperate.

The orange vial caught the overhead light,

a transparent amber trap for the nerves.

I know that sound. I know the way

your fingers learn to count the weight

without even opening the lid.