The Stoop

I stood up from the desk.

Felt the small clicks,

the grinding under the skin.

My shirt pulled tight

across my shoulders,

like a warning.

This ache,

it’s a familiar guest now,

settled deep.

The curve where my neck

meets my back,

it holds it all,

the weight of looking down

for hours.

The screen glare,

the tiny letters,

the world reduced

to a rectangle of light.