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Untitled
February 12, 2018
Above, a whirring fan chopped the air,
heavy with lemon disinfectant spray.
Tuning in and out, his questions generating static interference
against my skipping, stuttering one-track mind.
I dug deeper into the leathery cushions below,
desperately grasping for something real--
anything sane.
He grunted and scribbled into a manila steno pad,
inking my scratched brain with a label
and naming the earworm I’ll play until my speakers blow.
© Reuel M., Austin, TX
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