DATE: Friday, June 28, 2024

By Bonita J.
At precisely 8 am
his shoulders slouch appearing slightly unbalanced, and
his pitcher’s arm hangs carelessly over the chair’s back;
letting resolve dangle awkwardly with winged sureness.
He studies the screen, glancing up at a slowing
time that does not move a single hand in the right
direction. Slim nerveless fingers rest on furrowed brows that
dream of hunting fussy,narrow-head snakes in a shallow swamp.
He contemplates how to configure his genius. So he
erects his lean torso and lifts off his baseball cap. A
rare sighting. But two seconds later, he pulls it
back on, tight, over-hopeful eyes. At last, he drops
his shoulders into position, and with Trout-like
focus, he strikes a key, hoping the answer is D.