I’m feeling out of order
like inside my pocket
pulling out the pieces
and the crumpled bits of paper
are covered in crumbs
and sticking to my sweating, nervous, palms
as I look for the dollar
as the line grows longer
and the lady at the counter
taps her too-long nails
and stares cold and empty through the laughter
when I find my dollar's gone
when I reach through the hole
and there is nothing left to do
but trudge along home.