The Sensitive

Lights, camera, action.
Brain drain, the stimulus must refrain
From glaring and snapping and moving qucikly at me.
I hear a boy dropping his plastic
Water bottle over and over, for giggles.
I hear men speaking over me of their second homes.
Maybe bragging, maybe informing one on
How far out of the city is a good commute?
And the lights are glaring, piercing, unsettling.
Standing in Wallgreens to buy constipation
Medicine I ask for assistance.
Too many colors, too many choices.
A week into treatment.
My brain is being irradiated and poisoned.
A one two punch, making me feel a daily hangover.
A brain leftover to calculate too many details.
A brain swelling and seemingly dwelling
On the minutia of our world.
Where site and sound are taken for granted.
Where the volume of a cellphone conversation
Is so easily lost in translation even with
Large iconic signs which read to turn them off.
The steroids might help soothe the swelling beast.
Help my senses become finely tweaked
For the loud, bright uncaring world of the sensitive.