The Belt

The woman ahead counts change

directly onto the belt.

One dollar, ninety-three cents,

her fingers moving like braille,

like if she just touches each coin right

the total will change.

The cashier's hand moves over the jar—

scan, beep, scan, beep—

the fluorescent light doesn't flicker

but I'm waiting for it to.

I've been standing here long enough

to know that time doesn't move faster

in a checkout line.

It just feels heavier.

The woman finds another quarter.

The cashier waits.

Nothing is rushing.