Static, he leans over his papers,
a drawling pencil the only motion
in his square, uncontaminated
they see but untouched he feels
lonely. Today he is angry at his
silence, the same as yesterday,
with a mental cringe, the same as tomorrow.
Paper scratches paper, harsh,
as another sheet wraps under
his coil notebook, an accomplishment
they say but he feels, oddly, a failure.