The cursor signals, winks on and off, uses a code
I have yet to master. Sometimes it seems amused,
Pleased with itself over an inside joke I don’t get.
Other times, it becomes a warning, desperate for
My attention, as if the page were a flooded road
Much too dangerous to wade in or drive through,
Sinkholes waiting, hidden, ready to drown me
In paperwork and complex incomplete thoughts,
And sometimes, every once in a while, it greets,
Like an old friend might, or a fan cheering me on
As I finish a full marathon, barefoot in this rain.
The cursor signals out, like a coast watcher in war,
Like a frantic radioman as his Titanic goes down,
Like a traffic light and a really bad intersection,
The corner of my life and all these blank pages.
It winks off and on as if it were counting down
From some set number, a bit out of rhythm,
Like a poorly tuned heartbeat, a pulse beat
To check on and hope for, like an anxious medic
Triaging on a blank battlefield, a reassuring beat
Playing on, restlessly wanting me to respond.
