Was not my name
One of them – not the farmer turned wrestler,
nor the cataloguer of the hard stuff.
Me? I’m squishier – more prone to lack empathy,
to ride mood swings,
Call me – tapper.
Tapper of Keys.
Clicks and pastes and searches.
Just a guy with a dog asleep on his foot,
a dog bound for no good, no where.
Clicks and small hurts, that’s what I can count –
Cataloguer of small wounds. That’s me.
It’s noon somewhere – I know that much.