THE MONOTONY OF HABIT

THE MONOTONY OF HABIT

 

Without complaint, the chestnut gelding

bears the weight of heavy German tourists,

responds sluggishly to repeated kicks

against its ribs;

single file it plods along the mountain crest

as a narrow river winds below,

snakelike - coiling backwards, unsure of direction,

but the horse follows this tedious route

three times a day like a public transit bus

reduced to the monotony of schedule.

It has discarded the idea of a sudden bolt,

rearing up,

discarding passenger,

a plunge to certain death.

 

The alarm clock rings abruptly at seven,

and off it walks to work

each and every day.