Caffeine in my coffee

has a half-life of 7 hours

and I drink it, most of the day

when I’m feeling, half-alive

which is most of the time.

It melts away the fog

clinging to the edges of my brain

like a fire, burning, a tedious document.

I stare at my computer screen

knocking…

I stare at the teacher with a complaint

it’s like she never left school

I walk to my car

and watch them

huddled in their group

She watches me

with a cold stare.

Some days can be understood logically

but most of the time

human interactions

never follow a script, even though, everyone tries

“Good Morning Mr. Johnson.”

“Morning.”

“Oh, the copier isn’t printing.”

“There must be an error.”

Then my outburst, which causes people to wonder who I really am…

“It’s the small things that send you to a madhouse,

like being late

when there is no time left.”

“Oh—Mr. Johnson, that reminds me, I’m late to a meeting—got to go.”

and I walk back to my office to contemplate the brown color

in my coffee

and calculate how long it will be

until I can drift to sleep.