Refill

The receipt was balled up in the wool

of a coat I haven't worn.

A memory of a belly full

and a spirit feeling torn.

The date is printed in a fading gray,

a Tuesday, late at night.

I spent the whole of my birthday

under a sterile, buzzing light.

The hot dog was lukewarm and salt,

the floor smelled hard of bleach.

It wasn't anyone’s particular fault

that joy was out of reach.