The Glass Slab

The green digits held still.

For a moment,

before they settled,

just a flicker.

My breath,

holding it.

The cold glass

on the bathroom tile.

A small puddle, just a drop,

from the shower before.

It caught the glow,

made the number swim,

upside down, a silent accusation.

It was not kind.

Not exactly cruel.

Just a fact.

But the air thinned out,

around me.

Like a wrong answer

written in light.