Exact Change

The bill is damp from the rain on my sleeve.

The machine spits it out with a mechanical groan.

I can hear the engines idling in a row,

a choir of exhaust and impatient heat.

I’m digging for quarters in the seat crack,

my fingers hitting gum and old grit.

The concrete island is stained with oil,

a permanent record of everyone stopping

just long enough to pay for the right

to keep driving away from here.