For Christ’s sake, could you sit still?
Tapping your fingers
On your knee, unrhythmically,
Foot beating a different one
After the legs bounce and cross –
Once, twice, three times a second –
God grant me patience!
What is that rubbing?
That frantic forearm rubbing
Like a flint sparking the fires
Of my annoyance?
And you, fanning the flames with
Loud, uneven puffs from your flaring nostrils –
Cannot seem to behave like an adult.
Your daughter pleads for silence
As you trumpet like a damn elephant,
But you chide her and urge her to shout.
She’s a good girl
And you are more the child.
Finally, you take out your phone
Which might occupy your
Disgraceful, fidgeting self.
Oh, for crying out loud,
Will you plug some headphones in?
I am trying to talk
On the phone,
If you hadn’t noticed.
Morning's Early Dark 