Intuition

Intuition

With a white Styrofoam cup in his hand
An acquaintance stood alone, steam filling
The distance between his lips and the cup
To the Somali man, tea is a social agent
That sometimes serves as a depressant

"You look tired or stressed", I said
"How do you know?" He asked
With eyes buried under the skin
With a face deprived of expression

"Intuition, call it intuition," I retorted
"Can you prove it?" He challenged
"With logic and reason?"
I listened. Perplexed.

Intuition, I replied
Is a feeling, a hunch that clicks
With neither scientific apparatus to gauge
Nor mathematical formulas to calculate

Intuition, I continued
Comprises of a polarized feeling
With absolutes
Either right or wrong
And no half-truths

Sipping from the cup
He watched me
With a cold face
"You're absolutely right," he sighed
"I'm stressed."