Access Denied

The gas station window is a black, greasy sheet

reflecting the pump and the smudge of my face.

I see the blue nylon, the loop of defeat,

hanging like a leash I forgot to unlace.

The plastic pouch is flipped backward and cold,

showing only the white of an empty ID.

I look like a temp who has done what he’s told,

a visitor waiting for a door and a key.

I reach for the clip and the cheap metal snap,

feeling the weight of the name they assigned.

I’m just a body caught in a polyester trap,

leaving the better parts of myself behind.