Detail Oriented

​I am convinced I know nothing

when asked for specifics.

I appreciate vague ideas I can misconstrue,

so that I might get ahead in a conversation

that I have decided is uncomfortable.

I am wary of subjects I am familiar with.

Undue questions are deceiving.

As if, my abilities to attend to small details

were an indication of intelligence, 

or a supposed lack thereof.

I get no reference to this, that, or the other

despite entertaining ideas I do not care for.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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