Morning of the Job Interview

Already, as the sleep eases away,
leaks into is own reservoir,
the nervous energies attack my stomach,
as though I breathe insects at every gulp,
fingers itch within
and under my cheeks my flesh tingles,
stretches, shimmies nervously.
But my feet have contributed their heat
to my nervous fingers
and are cold. The energy emerges
in fidgets not warmth as I
pull at the hair on my neck,
rub my nose, cross my legs.
As an engine coaxed from cold inactivity
takes awhile to warm up,
so my mind in full gear runs steady,
without let up, flashing scenes
of today-to-come across my
mental theater. I write to calm my nerves,
steady my breathing, slow my brain.
But any relaxation
flows out my feet.