In this world
Of man-made selection
I’m being left for last pick.
You must be a fortune
To sip champagne at the gallery
While my bed is a curb
With a star gaze view.
You want your finery,
Your reputation,
Your room with ambiance
But it costs my soul.
You drink from my cup
But refuse me
even the scraps of your table.
I can’t trust those human like me
To help a fellow man
When they’re much to busy
Devoting their 1,000+ “likes”
To a cat video.
You’ll drain me
Till I’m bleached bone.
My frame not a glimpse of my soul,
More a glimpse of your pocket
But alas your supplier I’ll remain
For the brush and oil
Are my flesh and blood,
My only true romance.
Among other things, J 