The clockout chime was over an hour ago

The clock-out chime was over an hour ago

and now I’m sitting in the driver’s seat

watching the world take on a heavy, amber glow

that makes the asphalt feel like a retreat.

A stack of parking tickets, white and cold,

are resting on the passenger side’s vinyl skin.

The sun has turned their edges into gold,

a temporary way to hide the sin

of being broke. The dashboard’s layer of dust

is lit like fur, or velvet, or a cloud.

It’s beautiful, I guess, or else I must

be tired enough to say it out loud.

Then the angle shifts. The orange turns to lead.

The tickets go back to being what they are.

I turn the key and feel the day go dead

inside the cooling cabin of the car.