THE AGD SYNDROME

Just as the bald eagle soaks the board in white,
We sit back as bored as bored can be.
Ducking our heads to avoid the stinging bite,
For we fear the raucous noise at our bloodshot eyes.

We look unto him for he has unparalleled concentration,
Unfazed by the rattling noises of our stomach.
Nothing stops him from torturing us with deliberation,
Neither the fluctuating current nor the chiming clocks.

For us it’s often a battle of wits,
To sit through without hurting our heads.
But seldom do we match his wits
For his stare saps half our threats.

The screeching sirens our only savior,
As only it can stop him forever.
We bask in our minute of glory,
As the next hitch enters with fury.