That Small Feeling That Something’s Wrong
My intuition sounds its gong.
I have an inkling something’s wrong.
I look around for what’s amiss,
but cannot tell what signals this.
My arm and neck hairs stir and rise,
as if to warn me of surprise.
This tiny hunch keeps me alert,
but insight is a fickle flirt.
When nothing happens, it goes away
and I live out my normal day.
That tiny niggling little prickle
might lead to nought, for insight’s fickle,
and sometimes things are just so small
that they aren’t there at all.
This poem was written in October of 2016. The RDP2 prompt today is insight.