How can he go on, the
image is dead, the ideogram for
Head down, he weeps instead.
His most recent selfie,
taken on a “whim” at that
dim new place downtown
falls as flat as his spirits.
He stares, grim,
at the unresponsive screen.
If he could only post, it would surely
eclipse his other photos,
and the real him could come out.
He knows he is real fun guy,
and not a remora,
sucking off the fun of others
as his ex-girlfriend claims.
No, he is doomed, his fate sealed.
He will no doubt be found, a lifeless
weight in the morning, having pined away
to that final silent sleep…
He briefly considers what he should wear
for when they find his corpse,
and shudders when he realizes how
his mother will dress him for his casket.
This is totally unfair.
He must survive, somehow.
He must come through alive.
With a blip-bloop-bleep, power returns.
He is saved (once more enslaved).
Head down, face aglow, he
dives back into
Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides November Poem-a-Day challenge. Prompt: To use at least three of these six words: Ideogram, Remora, Casket, Eclipse, Selfie, Wretch.