128 Over 84

She said the number once and then again.

Wrote it down. I watched her pen

press harder than it had to — like the chart

itself needed convincing. That's the part

I keep coming back to. The cuff hissed out.

I read the screen upside down. No doubt

she saw me looking. Two numbers. Mine.

I've had a tightness for a long time —

not pain, a pressure, the kind you defer

because naming it means you'd have to refer

it somewhere, deal with it. I've been good

at not doing that. She left. I stood —

sat, actually — on the paper table.

Twelve minutes, maybe more. I was able

to do the math on a few things I owe.

The ceiling had a water stain. I know

I stared at it too long, trying to find

a shape. Couldn't. The doctor: we'll monitor. Fine.

I got my coat. Caught it on the chair. The day

kept going the way days do.

I walked three blocks. I didn't call you.