She meets me at the entry with arrogance
And senseless little tasks
That I equate to making license plates
And being in a chain gang assigned to sweep litter off highways.
She wants to be worshipped and I do not know how to do that.
I take my time responding to her emails
Like the slow drip of honey and things that must remain unsaid.
Offline, I flick attitude and a whiff of defiance.
She is lucky, cocky and has too much time on her hands.
But then, she has my attention and I am not amused, not proud
Of forfeiting my creativity
For smoke signals and reindeer games
And strings that lead to nowhere.