The Other Route

I've tried to beg
the table leg
to cease its importuning:
it will not stop communing

with my dreams –
setting up its schemes
to worry me awake –
to make me take

the other route.
I can’t dispute
its blunt opinions
without making minions

of them hastily appear.
When I say no, they jeer.
I’d like to chop it up
but that would hop it up,

I'm sure. Its face
would find another place
to taunt me,
and to haunt me

and to drive me mad.
Why would it be bad
to do its bidding?
You must be kidding.





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