his compost

original thoughts are not his forte
unless by “original” you mean “imperial”
from his office above the garage
he pronounces his edicts over the intercom
that echo through the house
whether there’s anyone to listen or not
so it’s hard to care
he doesn’t think anything
that he’s not hear or read
he doesn’t say anything
that he’s thought himself
in his tower of equipment
for moving stuff
the stuff that he moves most
is his own compost
so it’s hard to care
except he’s a bastard if ignored
so he bullies his boys
and strikes his wife
with blows made of loud noise
blasting from every phone
but nothing he says is surprising
because it’s all so mundane
and the thing he’s lacking
is any form of imagination
he turns it over and over
in that composting bin
one might euphemistically
call his brain
nope, it’s not top soil yet
keep trying