Deposit

I found the yellow slip in the junk drawer,

between a dead battery and a rusted key.

The carbon copy of a promise

I was too proud to go back and reclaim.

The ink is a bruised, leaking purple

where the clerk hammered the VOID stamp.

I spent the actual Saturday

watching the radiator hiss in the corner.

I told everyone I was fine with the quiet,

but I am a fraud.

I kept the receipt because it’s the only proof

that someone once expected me to show up.