The Five Minute Lie

The red dash light flickered to nine-oh-five.

I sat in the lot just to feel alive,

staring at the bricks of the grocery store

until I couldn't stand the quiet no more.

I walked in and told him I was sorry for the wait,

blaming the lights and the morning freight.

But the sorry was a thin, plastic thing—

it didn't have the weight or the sting.

I wasn't late by any mistake.

I was just taking back what he tried to take.