Hunchback of Whogivesadamn
In a room flooded with paper
Covered in dots, dashes, and scrawlings,
Perched on a crate, bent over his telegraph.
“Lunch plans, dinner plans, sex,
Woke up too late for breakfast, sex,
Does your back hurt? Mine does.
I bet they put something in the water.”
So the reams read as they roll
‘Round and ’round the room,
The cobra closing on another kill.
Hunch doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Just outside, the lane overgrown,
A crow lands on a wire, squawks unheard,
Looks down the street towards the edge of the world—
Only little houses and wires in a withering grassland.
He calls again, the air swallows the sound,
Like everywhere else on this sad rock.
Bristling, he snaps the wire; it sparks,
Writhes in false agony, drops to the ground—
And so does Hunch, like fresh lumber,
A brief thud as he strikes the floor.
He whimpers as he dies alone,
Never thinking to walk next door.