Larson the Liberator

Larson's forced again to walk the dog
He didn't even want. The god-damned
Thing tugs at its leash, as Larson finds
A pattern forming. Years of duty and
Restraint: Jr. in name, JD by calling;
Doing as his father did and made quite
Clear that he should do; the shackles
Of a tepid life, the marriage to his
Former sweetheart, now a whiny MBA,
The one who bought the stupid dog;
A house which advertises wealth, all
Pomp without and cold within, set
Halfway down a dreary street among
The likewise pompous homes of
Couples who've accomplished things.
Even on a Sunday, none of them shows
Signs of life. So, here he is. He doesn't
Dance. He doesn't sing or raise his
Voice, He never went to Kathmandu,
As he had thought he'd like to do.
He didn't dare to buy the bowler
Hat he knew he'd never wear. He
Looks down at the poor, pathetic dog
Which pants against the leash. He
Bends, and disconnects it, and says,
“There. Now run. One of us should
Be free.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 63 times
Written on 2016-11-23 at 23:40

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