Sloth

There are so many urgent things to do,
the sooner he can start on them the better.
He lies upon his back and counts them through:
the ailing relative who'd love a letter,
the cheque he'd meant to write for each good cause -
they link to load his limbs down with a fetter
of unmet deadlines and unmanaged chores.
Procrastinator, dilettante, debtor,
he hears the whisper of descending sand
that grain by grain reminds him life is real
and tangible and trickles through his hand.
He'd quickly set his shoulder to the wheel
once extricated from this bed of thorns.

Tears crawl along his temples while he yawns.

-------------------------

© Brian Fewster,
Published in Envoi 119, 1998

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