Reflection in a Phial
I look at my hands the are brown as a farmer`s, this pleases me,
although, I have no land to plough, a tractor or a mule,
a workman`s sturdy hand; all socialists should have hands that
have harvested potatoes or carrots.
I flex my muscles of my upper arms, see a faint movement
like a mouse moving under thawing spring snow.
Glorious vanity I used to do hundred press- ups, a day in the hope
to look strong and furious. I think of sex sadly I wasn`t any good
at it, after the act, I looked for a book to read.
The squalid side of life has always mystified me, why does
a person chooses a path that leads moral disgrace and ruin?
I have always been lazy, strenuous effort will not touch me,
but I would like to pull up a few more carrots