running late, again.
my intent is to move quickly past them,
offering a kind “excuse me” so i don’t bump into her,
standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“you’re all good, sugar.” she says,
“naw, wait, you okay baby girl?”
turn and look her in the eyes,
“yeah, i’m okay.” (lie)
“okay, well, you work it, baby.”
failing to unleash a public bike from its stand:
debit card not recognized by the machine.
deep sigh of frustration, swallowing tears.
a gentle voice from behind me,
“sugar. you’re sure you’re okay?”
her concerned face searches mine.
“no, yeah, i’ll be okay.”
“i do not, for one second, believe you,”
“have any pennies?”
“no, these aren’t even real pockets.” i say,
and show her the false pockets of my jeans.
still running late,
dashing home to
drive a vehicle i own,
to an event,
are because i chose