My Cardboard Balcony

Ten Minutes by Belinda Roddie Ten minutes before the clock's face breaks and leaves scars everywhere. Ten minutes before the eclipse swallows the moon whole in despair. There's enough time wasted with silly notions that there's immortality for us. It's a lie, we'll die, we'll leave nothing behind. Ten minutes before I self-destruct.

His chin was coarse with stubble, the bags below his eyes sticky with syrup-like sweat. He stood over the counter with a crooked leg and a hunched back, slowly drinking from the nearly empty beer can and slurping with every sip. I had not seen my father for over ten years, and I could tell how broken he was. Still, I pulled up a stool, waved for the bartender, and said to him gruffly, "How's it going?"