Hard Data

The stairs were a mountain this evening,

a dull, grinding ache in the bone.

I stand in the dark where the tiles are freezing

and face the small judge all alone.

My heels leave a fog on the platform of glass

while the red numbers flicker and settle.

I’m watching the ghost of a younger self pass,

weighing the meat and the blood and the metal.

It’s not just the gravity pulling me down,

but the years I have carried through this part of town.