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How Her Fingers Danced
By Christopher J. Bradley
4/24/02

It was evening in the X-Ray lab
Of St. Mary's Hospital.
The air was cool outside
But I hadn't needed a jacket
For the long walk from the blacktop drive
To the steel cased entranceway.

There was no introduction
Just my name on a card
And some preliminary information about my spine
And within a few minutes
I was face to face
With the girl with dark hair.

She was like out of a memory
Clicking away at the keyboard
And I found it hard to look away
From her fingers
Snapping the Keys.
Individual Strokes to the plastic.

How her fingers danced
A Rhyhmic pounding
That would have been loud like a hammer
If they hadn't been dulled by the fans.
The Infared and medical papers
Swarmed around her as she wrote

In virtual space
Somewhere I hope to be
If this tapping ever ceases.

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