The Ledger

The pipe burst while I was sleeping.

Now I'm sitting here in the quiet yellow light,

staring at a number that makes the room feel tight.

The plumber left his muddy prints by the door,

a trail of grit across the linoleum floor.

I pull the checkbook out and start to write.

The ballpoint skips over a smear of grease

from the pizza box I left on the table.

It’s a jagged line, a struggle for peace,

paying for a fix that I’m barely able.