My good morning greeting is your body.
We are not equals.
You step on me,
but I hold the power in this relationship.
pondering, calculating, measuring
you pray as my plastic parts groan under your weight.
My only means of communication:
three red square digits.
but I don’t make these up.
Just the messenger,
not your enemy, though you see me as such.
Squished between your feet and the floor
I feel it too.
You are done staring down, wishing me to change.
and you hate me for it.
you step off
the numbers disappear, but
I’ll be waiting until tomorrow morning.