My metaphors are tantrum kings.
They come to me with rolling eyes,
Entitlement in twitching thumbs,
Attention skittling every time
Their boredom threatens to emerge.
They breathe a “hmm” or simply sigh
Without intention to abide
By any task I set them to.
They do not join me at my desk.
They do not want a daily job.
They simply want to quickly rise
To top of someone’s Google search,
Be printed on some custom merch,
And bask in found celebrity.
This too shall pass, I tell myself.