Out Of Hand 

This writing thing has gotten out of hand. 

There are needs that call for my attention 

But I have little appetite for them. 

I am distracted, otherwise engaged, 

Put off the scent and lead down trails 

That consume me to exclusion of all else. 

The fox, forgotten, the scent that is in my nose 

Driving me to pursue unfamiliar prey. 

I break from the pack 

Not following my master’s voice 

Diving into bush and bracken 

Answering to other instincts 

Than those instilled by breeding and intent. 

Definitely out of hand. 

I am starting to annoy both family and friends, 

Fingers constantly tapping at my tablet, 

Brain engaged in things not here and now. 

What to do with a hound that will not track, 

One that dashes off at will 

Pursuing false trails, 

Leading the pack astray, 

Unfit to hunt, 

Determined to be different  

But put him down?