Red Arithmetic

The old one died, just quit.

So I bought this new one, cold

and glass, and stepped upon it,

my bare feet on the tile, bold.

It flickered once, then settled there,

a hard red truth, too stark.

The number hung, defiant, bare,

leaving its heavy mark.

No soft analog swing, no gentle pause,

just this blunt, digital fact.

My breath hitched, ignoring all the laws

of grace, a silent, sharp attack.

It held its place, a glaring sign,

reflecting the pale light.

Just stood there, solid, grim, unkind,

and ruined the rest of my day.