The Parasite

I am
The perfect parasite.
I study the squander of my life.
The white plastic chair is my throne
And the screen my newly wedded wife.

I don’t want to do anything:
Don’t want to read and don’t want to talk,
I don’t want to raise and I don’t need to move,
I don’t plan to cook and refuse to walk,
Don’t want to spoil
The parasite groove.

I am just another useless mouth to feed-
If I could, I’d especially avoid thinking,
Just give me some water and spread the heat
Then watch me starring at the wall
Without blinking.

What will I do tonight?
I will dream about sheep
Who are too lazy to run and too heavy to jump.
Seriously,
I don’t know, nor do I really care,
Out of boredom and weariness,
I might decide to cut off my hair.

Suddenly,
A thought crosses my turbid mind
Such enterprise entails exceedingly hard labour!
The parasite in me is one of a kind,
So I decided to do him a favour:
I will leave my look as it is, and
Complete the voyage on my Pacific cruise
Two seagulls pass me a drink (I needed a hand),
As the sun whistles to the notes of
The parasite blues.

P.J.