The Spare

“Unexpected item in the bagging area.”

The red light is blinking at my throat.

I’m trying to move the yogurt,

but my left hand is a clumsy stranger,

fumbling with a crumpled five

like it’s never seen paper before.

It just hangs there,

a passenger on my shoulder.

The nail on the ring finger is bitten jagged,

hooking into the loose wool of my sweater,

tugging a thread into a long, ruined loop

while the machine keeps calling for help.