You are Designed to Disappear

Sinuously, the clouds
refuse to flatten as the day
dies off.
Rough the way.

Someday, you’ll have
to ask yourself
what you’re worth
to the rest of us,

your inability to navigate
too obvious when you can no longer
ambulate straight to the ATM, a short stint
from the car door.

It swings open.
Someone might offer to help,
which would be worse. What
gets disbursed is chump change.

A man tries to back 
out of the bank lot and cannot,
the clutch grinding as he veers off,
sidelong into my side of the building.