Recurring

The screen shows the charge—

$14.99, bold, a dark routine.

I'm at the coffee shop waiting for my name

when I see the pattern, the same

amount, six months running,

for something I subscribed to and then

forgot I'd even wanted.

March. Seventeen minutes.

I opened the app, watched something,

closed it. Meant to cancel.

But meant and did became

two different countries

I couldn't quite travel between.

Now I'm holding a warm cup

that isn't mine yet,

looking at money that keeps leaving

like I approved it,

like I meant it,

like the automatic renewal

I clicked through without reading

is somehow the same as choice.

My thumb hovers over the button.

Cancel. Three clicks.

I could do it now.

I close the app instead.

Tomorrow, I think.

Next week.

The coffee tastes like I already know

I won't.