The clock moved like it was learning

The clock moved like it was learning.

Tick. Pause. Tick.

The man across from me checked his watch,

then the wall clock, like they might not agree,

like one of them might be lying about time.

We were all waiting the same way—

the sitting still, the magazine shuffle,

the woman who kept clearing her throat,

listening to each other's silence,

waiting like we'd been trained to wait.

The clock's second hand took so long

to circle back to where it started.

I watched it move through the fluorescent light

and understood: this is how people spend their hours,

this is the cost of caring for someone else—

you sit and you watch time refuse to hurry,

you become part of the room's patience,

you forget what you came here for

and remember only that you're waiting,

that we're all waiting,

that the clock doesn't care

whether we believe in it or not.