At Which Point, the Promotions Ceased

A kid would see the point of this.
The others won't. Their souls are
Dead. They'll stare. Someone is
Sure to say, “You're foolish to be
Doing that. You'll fall, and you
May crack your head, and, anyway,
If someone sees you, you are apt
To lose your job.” Oh, Jesus,
Could I lose my job, this weight
Which hangs about my neck?
This penitence I do each day
To earn the money that I need
To do this penitence each day?
To hell with that. To hell with
Them. I'll soon go back to being
As they are, and as I'm meant
To be: a man bound, both in
Suit and purpose, to go clacking
Down a hall to join a meeting,
Nod my head, and, thereby,
Set in motion something
Which will bring in money,
All there is to life; I understand,
But, before that, I must do this:
Run down this hall, to jump and
Ride this rug so far as it will go.
A magic carpet! See me fly!
To hell with all of them.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 126 times
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Written on 2014-02-15 at 01:03

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