The Bargain

He wanted
To be appreciated.
These walls?
No can do.
By people who can touch him
And hold him,
Pet him on the top of the head
And say it will work out:
This life
Should live it
To the fullest.
In his throat, though...something.

People, friends and family, all gathered ‘round,
Petting him on the top of the head,
Saying it’s all going to work just fine,
Holding him,
Caressing him,
But still,
In his throat...something.

Birthday parties,
His.
Kids,
His,
And friends and family and floors,
and private bathrooms, and Italian shoes, and bank accounts
His,
All his.
But still...
Oh, Wait,
Right:
Love,
His,
Wait...
Whose?
His.
And...?
And what?
And...?
Oh, Yeah,
Hers.
Hers?
Hers.
And his?
Hers and his.
Got it.
But still,
In his throat...something

Why?
All this,
And all that,
And love.
Yeah!
But still...
What?
More!?
But what?
Speed boat, parachute, supermodels,
Nobel Prize, a country?
Wait...
Go back one.
Nobel Prize?
Nobel Prize.
Ok,
Nobel Prize.
Hmm...
Whaat!
More!?
Come on!
Yachts, Ferraris, a trip to the moon?
Hmm...
Ok?
Ok.
But still...
In his throat...something.

Ah
Got it,
Got it!
Ok?
Ok.
All this.
All this?
Ok.
But...
Whaat!
Forever
Forever?
Yeah, forever.

No can do.

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Part of The Competitive Edge – A Collection of Poems

Read also: The Competitive Edge (title poem) | The Consumer | The Parsleyness of Being | To the City of Hopes and Steel | The Corridor | The Immigrant | Nine-to-fiving | Morning Skies | Into the Big Blue-Gray

My intro

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