Dignity

It’s just a refletion. A reflection he sees in the bathroom mirror, With dingy white walls and the sordid commode Staring him down with a Cyclops eye, Mocking him; telling him he is its prey. The necktie he knots like a noose ‘round his neck And tries to find his restful stance That he assumes every day of his life. Once composed, he drifts out of the maw Ready as ever to falter again. “Did you start up the car? No? So worthless.” She teases, but still it scrapes his soul. Descending creaky stairs, smothered by his suit, He climbs into the belly, it growls to life. Breathes into his face cold air. It wishes To smother his wretched life with phneymonia. She descends the Victorian stairs As beautiful an reckless as any duchess. “Never mind the cologne you forgot. Just drive. I won’t be with you long anyway.” That drives another spike through his soul. The tattered, bloody red bits accept Another instance of brutal abuse. But the drive to be loved is long extinguished. He thinks of ways to keep his wits When he hears her words so loud again. “Did you fill the tank? Why not?” she says. “So worthless.” Laughs and chatters on again. Lost in darkness, brain is black. Doesn’t see the traffic jam. Brakes squeal, horns scream. His thought arises back to the fray.   “Keep your eyes on the road!” And then, so soft and low a word: “Worthless.” He accepts this gospel And tightens his noose while waiting there. The fingers gesture around him, make His thoughts a little blacker still. The cop motions forward and The beast, glutted with despair, rolls on. The mansion looms agead. It waits For him to take a stumbling step. “Oh this will be so fun!” she yells. Her giddiness serves to prod his demise. The beast rolls to the door and then With keys flipped coolly to the valet It looks almost as if it smiles To be in the hands of a better man. He steps in the door and peers around. The paintings on the wall see him. They retch. The men in business coats And loose neckties not choking them Don’t even know that he is there. “See you honey. Going with friends.” And laugh and titter and jocular sneer Carry her off to her paradise. The patterns in the carpet thread Reach up and smite their watcher’s face The landscape is bleak, dotted with clumps Of vultures in their best attire, Watching and waiting to devour his corpse. His worthless, aimless, purposeless goals And blackest thoughts no use to them. His use to them is only meat. The chandelier above looks down With many a twinkle in Godlike eyes. A humorous light in the eyes of God Shines down upon the vulture beaks. The carpet, paintings, their sheer disdain Amuse the Lord of all on High. With stain on his shirt noticed, he dies, And handsome dignity devours its fill.