Late Fees

The spine is cracked and leaning left,

a ghost of someone else's shelf.

I’m guilty of a minor theft

I committed against myself.

A coffee ring upon the face

like a dark and muddy moon.

I meant to take it to her place

on a Sunday afternoon.

But 2019 came and went,

and then the world went slack.

The message that I never sent

won't bring the pages back.

The yellow pocket in the rear

still holds a card that's blank.

It’s been a long and heavy year

for a debt I cannot bank.