Free-Verse Friday

The Grind

A day begins like many past, time’s passage barely tracked

Hot Irish Cream, in steel mug steams

Unsweetened, bitter, black.

Old sandals kicked from carefree feet, replaced by shallow shine

A shirt tucked in, A tie straightened

One more ant gets into line.

This human slumps, straight back now hunched, into his Aeron throne

Inbox checked for daily dreck,

Assigned to timid drones.

But wait! This soft-flabbed husk of a man, beneath, within lurks a beast!

A savage meat-eater, a hunter and breeder

Heart-beating, spear-wielding, blood-greased.

Trace his bloodline farther back, and the wonders you will find

A mammoth slain, with axe blood-stain’d

Quick feet, and agile mind.

A tribal leader also full, of hunger, passion, fire

His lust for blood, wars fought for mud

Only death made the warrior tire.

Nearer still to civil times, many masterpieces wrought

By the hero’s son, who with paintings won

The hearts of the women he sought.

Return now to our office drone, in the year two-thousand ten,

His life not cruel nor dangerous

Not like those savage men!

No spear required, not in this life, his sword need not be unsheathed,

His duels now fought with PowerPoint,

Fresh meat, Whole Foods bequeaths.

His mate he’ll seduce, if that is the word, not with any talent or wit,

But via E-Harmony, where his income he’ll list

And his interests are cleverly writ.

The good life he seeks – job, family and friends –security, safety and peace

But in blood lurks a creature, an animal born

Of his savage ancestors deceased.