The Gap

I felt it go just as the brakes began to squeal,

a tiny plastic snap that felt strangely real.

It bounced off the tile and took the great leap

into the dark where the subway secrets keep.

Now I’m sitting here, trying to look the part,

while a cold draft reaches for the base of my heart.

There’s a hole in the line of the cotton and starch,

a failure of physics in this corporate march.

One white thread is curling out from the seam,

a frantic little loop like a silent scream.

I keep my hand flat against my vest,

hiding the space where the buttons fail the rest.