Fifty Minutes
by Znmin
· 04/02/2026
Published 04/02/2026 17:00
The clock on her wall is a metronome
for the money I’m bleeding out.
She tells me to breathe into the resentment
like it’s a lung and not a debt.
I was talking about the insurance bill
and the way the car makes that sound.
She looks at the velvet pillow on her lap,
the one that stays perfectly round.
'Your anger is a gift,' she says,
and I think about the cost of the air.
I’d rather have a working transmission
than a deeper understanding of despair.