An Afternoon of Baby Sitting

A bright bump
in the dead current,
she flows with it casting
flicks of attention like
flagella. She touches

every motion and every
pixel of sense, protesting.
Struggles to grip each
novel muscle lever. She
toys with the artifices
of her mouth and breath.

Halfway between protest
and joy she rails until
she suddenly fades into sleep
in the middle of her trevails.