The Boy in the Basement

The boy in the basement
Is no longer a man.
Haven't seen him in ages,
A whole triple-year span,
But I hear he's regressed
Back to embryo-hood,
Psychologically damaged,
An inert block of wood.
Part of the problem:
His wounds never healed
From that freak scooter mishap,
A failure to yield.
And then he was fired
From his tedious job;
After that, he turned into
An inveterate slob.
He prefers his own company,
Alone in the dungeon;
Rarely opens his door--
He's the perfect curmudgeon.
Behind on his rent,
He cries, "Landlords, have pity!
For where else would I live
In this overpriced city?"
Do not try to befriend him;
Like a stray, deranged mutt
He'll snarl and snap at you,
Then return to his rut.
Slender chance that this wretch
Will crawl out of his funk
When a cave is the measure
Of how low he has sunk.