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.