She was complaining about her fingernail 

Those black streaks in the corners 

 Whenever she did her work, she went pale

The click-click-click felt like a nailgun in her skin 

She’d given up on manicures 

Had to make a livin’

I looked at her but wasn’t quite sure

The nail was intact 

I tried to straighten my back

As I looked from the computer to her 

I tapped away at my own keyboard 

She said, “This can’t be what we’re made for, I feel like most days I’m in a coma”

“Subungal hematoma,” I replied

I tried to focus my eyes

“You gotta stop clickin’ with that finger,” I said

I tried to ignore the woozy feeling in my head

My eyes were strained and shoulders pained

She told me, “Girl, stand up straight”

The darn computer had me folded 

We both tried to leave the room but it turned out all her fingertips had molded – into nubs

Beneath each clear bed of keratin was blood

The time for our visit was over 

I was gonna tell her to come back in October

But we were both stuck in that exam room 

Objects of technology’s doom 

I thought maybe the 20-something in the waiting room would come get us

But turns out he was more frozen than we were 

We were in the doctor’s office without a cure 

I was hunched over at 90 degrees 

My patient’s hands were tingling 

Nail hematomas and carpal tunnel 

Rounded shoulders and eyeball strain

Only technology is to blame!

Computers!

Oh, the trauma

They create a different kind of drama

The modern day occupational hazard 

Me and that patient died in that room 

And no one knew

They were all looking at their screens, I gathered