IN THE DETAILS

It seems no matter

what the situation—

waiting rooms, dinners out, 

hikes through the forest—

there's always
the most punctilious
devil on my shoulder;

life-and-death talons 

clenching sensitive skin,

bright red wingtips, 

bidding: Change you direction 

again! Let's go faster!

or tweeting
out to his legion
of followers 

(as if I no longer counted
myself among them):

Is it over yet? so help me, 

god—

this is boring.