Counting (day 1650)

From my angle I wasn’t the nerd,
I had the best cold coffee
Settling in the bottom of my to-stay mug,
Rattling around the inside
Of my drastically hungry belly.
I had too many ideas to be passive
And in discourse with unfriendly patrons.

Why are you smiling at me, saying hello?
I’m on the other side of the room.
Can’t you see my furrow, blinded by dull lights?
Perhaps I’m the unfriendly one.

From my angle, I was the mission.
I had written the outline and
Focus was my middle name.
The timer was ticking and
I wasn’t wasting motivation
On Whiskey River in the Jar’O. 
I had water to accompany the drip.

Keep the lights low and let
This chaotic music recklessly skip
Into oblivion my cycling mind 
Which cannot refuse to be free.

From my angle I had a perfect view
Of both the flighty pixie,
Distracted with a proper stein,
And the siren gently calling my name.
I knew her, of course,
One of the few to break this furrow
And cause me to tarry by name.

Thus, I aggressively gather my activist heart
And settle my score with a battling pickaxe
And two shiny 2013 quarters
That rattle over the buzz and out the door.

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