Two Seconds to Get Across

The orange hand is gone and now it’s a math problem.

Seven. Six. The numbers are vibrating,

shaking with the same cheap panic in my chest

while the taxi drivers rev their engines like they're baiting

a dog behind a fence. I’m stuck on the curb

watching the 3 flicker and seize.

It’s a countdown for more than just the street—

it’s the way my thirties are dissolving into my knees,

this frantic ticking that says move or stay forever.

I’m always waiting for the little white walker

to tell me it’s safe, but by the time I step out,

the clock is already a jagged, digital mocker.