How Long

Red light. I stop the timer.

5,400 seconds climb the screen.

Ninety minutes—not the liar's

forty-five I've been selling between

work and home, between truth and

the story I tell about my time.

My boss believes it. So does my hand

holding the wheel. I've made it rhyme

somehow, the commute with the lie,

the truth with a number I won't face.

The light turns green. I don't move. Why

should I? The seconds hold their place.

This is how long it actually takes.

This is what I've been hiding from.

The timer glows. My confidence shakes.

I reset and drive. The truth has won.