The Math of a Tuesday

The screen of my phone is a bright, cruel blue,

reflecting in the glass of a cheap coffee jar.

I’m staring at the balance and the rent that is due,

and the distance between where I am and the car.

Fifty dollars more for a roof that still leaks,

while my paycheck is thin as a sheet of wet luck.

I’ve been eating the same salted nothing for weeks,

just another man who is perfectly stuck.

I put the good beans back on the shelf,

choosing the dust that tastes like a chore.

I’m negotiating a deal with my own bitter self,

while the automatic doors slide shut on the store.