With white-knuckled grip
the end of the day
clenches neck and shoulders
but my fingers still march.
Keys rattle, tacky plastic parade drill
for the words jogging obediently
onto the screen.
Body-less voice commands
and stops,
at foot’s mercy:
“..500 mg. t.i.d., 15 Lente, 11 Tor...
15 Lente, 11 Toronto in the morning, 3...
3 Toronto, 3 Humalog at supper with, I say...
with, I say, 3 of Lente at bed..”
Muffling,
obscuring,
paralyzing fog
seeps into command center
eyes droop...
Atten-TION
Back to now,
where the tireless computer
hums on
voice ever drones
and my fingers still march.
Violet, I thought this was wonderful! I loved the feel and flow of your words (although flow may not quite catch what I mean). Every word expressed your job so perfectly. Well done. With love, Deb
