The Hum

The fluorescent light in the cubicle

is screaming at a frequency I can feel.

My name has started to drift away,

becoming a sound that isn't real.

It’s like a handful of loose change

rattling inside a heavy dryer,

a tumble of metal and hot air

climbing a little bit higher.

I’m just a collection of old habits

trying to organize the noise,

waiting for the coins to stop falling

so I can find my own voice.