Midday Rainstorm, Piquant

Pressed play
on this antiquated box
The music that emanated
Lethargic shock paralyzes
The mission does not go well
Platters of food
Are brought to satisfy
A touch of this
A taste of that
Nothing creates fullness
Who feeds the servant
Bonded and bound
to do the master’s bidding?
The servant
Who is his own master
Drawing the boundaries
Holding the line
Don’t come over
As children keep you out
When you really want to join them
Become one of them
Against mores
The elder aching for an empty nest


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