What Do We Mean
When we say, we are kings;
that we are the queens of this modern world?
Oh, it may not even require a word, merely
a stern, but benign look of expectation
before a meal, cooked, gourmet-style-prepared,
is dished out for our delectation.
I must sometimes prod, particularly at night
when they are asleep, perch like a warbling bird
on the foot of their bed, when the need to go
becomes especially strong, they awaken, it is true
with a grumble, and a snarl as primitive as anything
that I have ever produced, but still
get themselves up, preferring that sleepy trudge
to let me out, to cleaning poop
from the bathroom floor,
or from one of those pretty, sweet smelling rugs.
Still, (take it from me) some compromises must be made
if one’s care-free life is to be sustained,
for these kingly ways to be maintained,
before that empathetic fervor has had its day,
to tweak this plethora, these privileges, we’ve assayed,
and leave us to be blamed.
Still, to compromise is to be wise;
This empathy, this fervor, will have its day,
and for our howls, our demanding ways,
They who now serve
We’ve had enough
Go on back
Go back to your wild ways.
Even a king must obey the laws,
not base compliance on the strength of straws.