THE CITY OF BURDEN
AND OF THE BURDENED
CLEAN YOUR ROOM.
Though you can’t control the world outside
These humble quarters are yours to do with as you please
Your little kingdom
You must attend to it
Make the bed
Dust the trunk
Clear the clutter on your desk
Sweep the slatted floor
You wet a rag and wipe methodically between the boards
Yes, you are the monarch of the Room
Reshaping your domain in the image of your
Cleanly godliness and rights divine
Anointed with the vinegar
Ensceptered with the scrubbing brush and bucket
Your books are stately councilors
Your candles courtiers
And all the vital commoners and inland petty spirits
Muster you to their captain
Enlivening your heart
Suddenly footsteps
Keys
A rusty creak
The slat in your door slides open
The protective mask of your Keeper appears in the frame
She speaks with calculated distinction
So as to be understood through the mask’s elaborate contours
“Provisions”
And with her gloved hand
She lowers a box into your chamber
You examine the contents
“Mutton?”
Your Keeper nods stoically
Your belly is empty
Your hunger is gnawing
But you cannot stomach more mutton sausage
You want to throw it in her face
To cram it down the snout of her stupid mask
To scream and shake
Gesticulating wildly for emphasis
To make her understand
To make you understood
There must be bread and cheese and vegetables
And fruits and flavors
Seasonings diverse as life itself and all Creation
And you will not suffer one more day
To be divorced
Apart
Confined with
MUTTON
MUTTON
MUTTON MUTTON MUTTON!