The Unblinking

We were discussing budgets,

the numbers laid out neat,

when my right eye began to beat

a small, frantic tattoo.

A tiny drum, a sudden,

uninvited guest, refusing truce.

I tried to press it still,

a finger against the bone,

but it only grew its own

wild rhythm, a fluttery

thing behind the lid.

A small, dark bird

trapped, maybe, in my head,

flapping its soft wing

against the glass.

The polished table

reflected back

my frantic lack

of grace, this traitorous space,

this sudden, unblinking face.