the little hired creatures who
ram their fists through
tabletops
now sit upon my head;
they laugh:
"we got a tired one.
he shows no fight.
beat him! beat him!"
and they begin.
it's old times again.
I remembered the time I asked
George to tie my hands behind me,
tie my feet
and push me off the bridge.
it didn't work.
I made it to the shore.

now they beat me,
these little freaks.
it's all a trick --
some day I'll get angry,
when it's too
late.

© Frank Silvanski