The Rocking-Horse Loser

“Welcome to the Stable, slave,” his Mistress baritoned.

He mounted the toy horse, the springs sagging from his adult weight.

Her black leather corset glimmered in the red light.

His Mistress was flawless

except for

the tennis ball sized cyst

on each elbow.

His eyes glared with the prospects of fresh adventure.

“LOL, the things I’ll do to you.

There must be more money.”

Without buildup, he began rocking with all his life.

“You’ll become either

an underachieving overachiever

or an overachieving underachiever.

You’ll feel old and decrepit every time

you listen to an oldies station

and remember when every song came out.

When you enter a room

and hear laughter

you’ll perpetually wonder why

you were left out of the joke.”

He furiously maintained his mechanical gallop.

“If you’re lucky, I’ll give you some tasks, slave.”

He knew the horse would take him east to new luck.

There must be more money.

I want you to suffer without changing.

I want you

to micromanage yourself

each time you cook a frozen pizza.

I want you

to spend 2/3 of each day

considering underwear

in the abstract.

The horse careening wildly, the slave’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“What is luck, Mistress?”

“you’re tawdry and wasting My time.”

“I don’t tolerate such insolence.”

He fell off the horse, landing at her patent leather boots.

“Omnis fortuna servitium est.”

(All luck is servitude)

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