Not Ruffling My Feathers Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Sitting here watching guys play pool in between writing
poetry.

No one bothering, leaving me to myself, knowing that I
prefer it this way, yet also knowing that I will stop
what I'm doing to have a conversation with them.

Interruption happening, stopping in the middle of a
sentence, then when done, picking up a pen, turning music
back on.

This photographic memory picking up exactly where I had
left off in my thought process, a wonderful gift that is
exercised and used all the time, people never really
ruffling my feathers because of it.

Only every once in a great while feeling a little annoyed,
not wanting to stop writing poetry even for a minute.