Slave Master

Slave Master

He reclines, lounged, attentive as
A full cat, lord nobody,
A pig in a tide of sewage

I ask, “Are you ready for dinner?”
He mumbles not turning his head
From the holiday program on the screen

His moustache twitches shaking off some of
The mornings breakfast milk and crumbs

“Are you going to sit there?”
He moves his gammy leg
I’m sure the dinner table
Will have unwanted company tonight

His missing big toe moves
The kink In the furled rug,
A boulder in his line of sight

I scurry back to the kitchen
My sweat ready to salt his food

Returning, his prized hunting cap lays
The coffee table,trophy of conquest
Shows off his knotted hair

His perverted image of Master still in tact

He motions with his hooked stick and
I place the offering squarely on his mat.
Gravy decorating the sides

Back to the stove stained in dried water and tar
I return so soon and wonder how a
blank canvas could be created in such time

And him back in his hammock In the paradise of,
Hamlet, hinekien, heaven
as a fly scratches his nose.

Sean Benjamin 2007