When I’m deep in concentration
I grind my teeth and emit a dull
Sound like an old rusty door hinge
 
I was made aware when in second grade
Sister Mary Jerome put a hand on my shoulder
Gave me a gentle shake. “Please stop,” she said
Other students laughed, I lost concentration and
Found it hard to get back on task…
 
All these years later when I’m in the writing zone
I still catch myself, I’m not aware of my echoing thrall.
But that squall allows my wife to know I’m working
So she gently closes the den door
 
It’s so weird, often, quite often,
I find myself sounding
Long into the night…

I can’t give up my grinding or my old
Rusty hinge squeal because they help
me focus and keep my writing precise.