The team of oxen struggles
Yoked tightly together and to a
Wagon laden with the detritus of years and
Passengers who should have disembarked decades since
But cling on to some semblance of relevance
As they strip out other seats and cast them aside
For the promise of coin
Unfulfilled
The lowing castrated cattle
Slowly sink into the mire of their own ordure
But I have slipped my tethers
And even if it is a struggle to free myself from
That muck
And even if I will always have the stains of it on my skin
The stink of it in my nostrils
The taste of it in my mouth
Because being surrounded so makes a coprophage of anyone
Whether they open their mouths or not
Finding firmer ground is good.
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