Twelve Seconds

The numbers started while I was still mid-street—

seven, then six. I know how crossings go.

I've done this intersection. My feet

know the timing. Something in me, though,

stopped at the median. Four became a three.

The orange hand was already beginning

its flicker. I could see the far sidewalk. I could see

the crowd move. The unambiguous meaning

of the signal. My body chose

to stay. I stood through the full red.

The walk came back. I stood through those

too. Something in my head—

some calculation I couldn't name—

was running. Third signal. I crossed.

I gave the office an excuse. The same

desk. Sat down. Thought about the cost

of one more cycle. Couldn't place it.