I've spent my years, secure, sedate,
My fork at five upon my plate,
The curtains chosen for the walls.
And every evening, darkness falls
On time, on cue. The shadows lie
In order when they snag my eye.
My desk is swept of dust. My lawn
Borders on order, neatly shorn.
I sit beneath my quiet roof,
Alone, apart, askance, aloof,
And turn my shuttered face away
From portraits placed upon display
By parents latterly deceased,
Their every photograph uncreased.
There's one especially I shun:
A figure, riotous in sun,
Of unkempt bliss, a flailing child
In ecstasy. It drives me wild.