Unexpected Fees

The sun’s creeping low, as I glance at the sheet,

my heart drops at the sight—oh, the price of defeat.

A parking ticket slipped, like a thief in the night,

reminding me softly of my forgetful plight.

It flutters in hand, crumpled, faded, forlorn,

a token of stress I’d rather not mourn.

Time ticks by harsh, in the stillness it gnaws,

a reminder that life still moves on without pause.

I think of my morning, the rush and the chase,

how moments can slip like a lost trace of grace.

This ticket, this scrap, a marker of time,

in the vastness of life, it’s a slip, not a crime.

Yet here it remains, a weight I must bear,

each number and fine a question of care.