Still a distraction
Still a distraction
A room with a loose door and a breeze
A room with all the walls the same color
They feel like an asylum
A chair with a limp
A table with a limp
Public places with everyone chewing and digesting so loud
The sun in the summer on the back of the neck
Burning like a magnifying glass
A vacuum cleaner in another room of the hotel
A baby within a quarter mile
Fleas on the floor that jump and live in your socks
A schizophrenic dog barking at a tree with falling leaves
Leaking ceilings, leaking faucets, leaking genitals
A stuck key on the keyboard, or in the doorknob
A check engine light
Any light that glares at you
Unmade beds and dresser drawers that have clothes sticking out like cotton tongues
All distractions
Distractions like Chinese water torture
Waterboarding
Like toenails burned with a torch
Voices
Annoying voices that lisp at the end or reach too high
Overdoing it
Too much caffeine, or adarall, or meth
Addicts picking their scabs and leaving them on the seat for the next person
A sticky table where your elbows would go
Expectation
Deadlines
Someone’s eyes inspecting you from across the room
Even if they never say a word
The feeling that comes with eyes on you
Trying to figure you out
Trying to read you like a paperback
Eye contact
In excessive quantities
Crowds
The smell of crowds
The smell of bathrooms
Sniffling
Blow your nose or die
Special people with wheeled chairs and tubes everywhere
The light catching their line of drool and blinding me
Kids
Teenagers
People on telephones and microphones
Predictable behavior
Questions of all sorts
Leave me alone and let me distract myself
There are enough distractions in my head
I live with them all day long
Like a flock of singing parrots
Like a radio tuned to half-static
Like a car engine at too high RPMs
I don’t need the help
No contributions
No solicitations
If it’s not on fire, I don’t want to know about it
Even if it is on fire
I still don’t want to know about it
Let me burn
Let me burn down with this half written poem
Burn all poems
They’re junk anyway
Just another distraction.