Bought Time

The red flag flipped up with a metallic sound,

a tiny guillotine for the afternoon.

I’ve got three cents and a gum wrapper I found,

and a phone call that isn't coming soon.

I tried to shove a nickel in the narrow throat,

but the slot is gummy with old soda and dirt.

So I sit in the heat and tighten my coat,

waiting for the news that is going to hurt.

People walk past with their bags and their lives,

ignoring the meter’s loud, mechanical glare.

We’re all just waiting for the man who arrives

to tell us we can’t keep standing there.